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It was a Little Boat.— Page 176 



THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


By MRS. MOLESWORTH, 

ii 

Auth6r of “Sweet Content,” “Grandmother Dear,” “Little Miss 
Peggy,” “Rosy,” etc. 


SEVEN ILLUSTRATIONS BY WALTER CRANE. 


NEW YORK: 

A. L. BUST, PUBLISHER. 





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••• 






MARY JOSEPHINE, 


AND TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF HER BROTHER, 

THOMAS GRINDAL, 

BOTH FRIENDLY LITTLE CRITICS OF MY CHILDREN’S STORIES. 


Edinburgh , 1877. 



“ Now, these little folks, like most girls and hoys. 

Loved fairy tales even better than toys. 

And they knew that in flowers on the spray 
Tiny spirits are hidden away. 

That frisk at night on the forest green. 

When earth is bathed in dewy sheen — 

And shining halls of pearl and gem, 

The Regions of Fancy — were open to them.” 

. . . just as any little child has been guided toward tho 

true paradise by its fairy dreams of bliss. — E. A. Abbott. 




CONTENTS 


The Old House 

CHAPTER L 

r PAGK 

Impatient Griselda.. 

CHAPTER II. 


Obeying Orders 

CHAPTER III. 

31 

CHAPTER IV. 

The Country of the Nodding Mandarins 

49 

Pictures. . „ 

CHAPTER V. 



CHAPTER VI. 


Rubbed the Wrong Way 


Butterfly-Land 

CHAPTER VII. 



CHAPTER VIII. 


Master Phil 


126 


CHAPTER IX. 



Up and Down the Chimney 143 

CHAPTER X. 

The Other Side of the Moon 164 


CHAPTER XL 


“ Cuckoo, Cuckoo, Good-by !’\ 


179 




























































































THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


CHAPTER I. 

THE OLD HOUSE. 

<c Somewhat back from the village street 
Stands the old-fashioned country-seat.” 

Once upon a time, in an old town, in an old 
street, there stood a very old house. Such a 
house as you could hardly find nowadays, how- 
ever you searched, for it belonged to a gone-by 
time— a time now quite passed away. 

It stood in a street ; but yet it was not like a 
town house, for though the front opened right 
on to the pavement, the back windows looked 
out upon a beautiful, quaintly terraced garden, 
with old trees growing so thick and close to- 
gether that in summer it was like living on the 
edge of a forest to be near them ; and even in 
winter the web of their interlaced branches hid 
all clear view behind. 

There was a colony of rooks in this old gar- 


2 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


den. Year after year they held their parlia- 
ments, and cawed and chattered and fussed ; 
year after year they built their nests and 
hatched their eggs ; year after year, I suppose, 
the old ones gradually died off and the young 
ones took their places ; though, but for know- 
ing this must be so, no one would have 
suspected it, for to all appearance the rooks 
were always the same — ever and always the 
same. 

Time, indeed, seemed to stand still in and all 
about the old house, as if it and the people who 
inhabited it had got so old that they could not 
get any older, and had outlived the possibility 
of change. 

But one day at last there did come a change. 
Late in the dusk of an autumn afternoon a car- 
riage drove up to the door of the old house, 
came rattling over the stones with a sudden 
noisy clatter that sounded quite impertinent, 
startling the rooks just as they were composing 
themselves to rest, and setting them all won- 
dering what could be the matter. 

A little girl was the matter ! A little girl 
in a gray merino frock and gray beaver bonnet, 
gray tippet and gray gloves — all gray together, 
even to her eyes, all except her round rosy face 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


3 


and bright brown hair. Her name even was 
rather gray, for it was Griselda. 

A gentleman lifted her out of the carriage 
and disappeared with her into the house ; and 
later that same evening the gentleman came 
out of the house and got into the carriage, 
which had come back for him again, and drove 
away. That was all that the rooks saw of the 
change that had come to the old house. Shall 
we go inside to see more ? 

Up the shallow, wide, old-fashioned stair- 
case, past the wainscoted walls, dark and shin- 
ing like a mirror, down a long, narrow passage 
with many doors, which but for their gleaming 
brass handles one would not have known were 
there, the oldest of the three old servants led 
little Griselda, so tired and sleepy that her 
supper had been left almost untasted, to the 
room prepared for her. It was a queer room, 
for everything in the house was queer ; but in 
the dancing light of the fire burning brightly 
in the tiled grate, it looked cheerful enough. 

“ I am glad there’s a fire,” said the child. 
“ Will it keep alight till the morning, do you 
think ?” 

The old servant shook her head. 

“ ’Twould not be safe to leave it so that it 


4 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


would burn till morning,” she said. “When 
you are in bed and asleep, little missie, you 
won’t want the fire. Bed’s the warmest place.” 

“ It isn’t for that I want it,” said Griselda ; 
“it’s for the light I like it. This house all 
looks so dark to me, and yet there seem to be 
lights hidden in the walls, too. they shine so.” 

The old servant smiled. * 

“ It will all seem strange to you, no doubt,” 
she said ; “ but you’ll get to like it, missie. ’Tis 
a good old house, and those that know best 
love it well.” 

“ Whom do you mean ?” said Griselda. “ Do 
you mean my great-aunts ?” 

“ Ah, yes, and others besides,” replied the old 
woman. “ The rooks love it well, and others 
besides. Did you ever hear tell of the ‘ good 
people,’ missie, over the sea where you come 
from ?” 

“ Fairies, do you mean ?” cried Griselda, her 
eyes sparkling. “ Of course I’ve heard of them, 
but I never saw any. Did you ever ?” 

“ I couldn’t say,” answered the old woman. 
“ My mind is not young like yours, missie, and 
there are times when strange memories come 
back to me as of sights and sounds in a dream. 
I am too old to see and hear as I once could. 


THE GUGKOO CLOCK. 


5 


We are all old here, missie. ’Twas time some- 
thing young came to the old house again.” 

4/ How strange and queer everything seems !” 
thought Griselda as she got into bed. “I 
don’t feel as if I belonged to it a bit. And 
they are all so old ; perhaps they won’t like 
having a child among them.” 

The very same thought had occurred to the 
rooks ! They could not decide as to the fors 
and againsts at all ; so they settled to put it to 
the vote the next morning, and in the mean time 
they and Griselda all went to sleep. 

I never heard if they slept well that night ; 
after such unusual excitement it was hardly to 
be expected they would. But Griselda, being 
a little girl and not a rook, was so tired that 
two minutes after she had tucked herself up in 
bed she was quite sound asleep, and did not 
wake for several hours. 

“ I wonder what it will all look like in the 
morning ?” was her last waking thought. “ If it 
was summer now, or spring, I shouldn’t mind 
— there would always be something nice to do 
then.” 

As sometimes happens, when she woke again, 
rery early in the morning, long before it was 
light, her thoughts went straight on with the 
same subject. 


6 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ If it was summer now, or spring,” slie re- 
peated to lierself, just as if she had not been 
asleep at all — like the man who fell into a 
trance for a hundred years just as he was say- 
ing “ it is bit — ” and when he woke up again 
finished the sentence as if nothing had hap- 
pened — “ terly cold.” “ If only it was spring,” 
thought Griselda. 

Just as she had got so far in her thoughts, 
she gave a great start. AVhat was it she heard ? 
Could her wish have come true? Was this 
fairyland indeed that she had got to, where one 
only needs to wish, for it to be ? She rubbed 
her eyes, but it was too dark to see ; that was 
not very fairyland-like, but her ears she felt 
certain had not deceived her : she was quite, 
quite sure that she had heard the cuckoo ! 

She listened with all her might, but she did 
not hear it again. Could it, after all, have been 
fancy ? She grew sleepy at last, and was just 
dropping off, when — yes, there it was again, as 
clear and distinct as possible — “ Cuckoo, cuckoo, 
cuckoo !” three, four, five times, then perfect 
silence as before. 

“ What a funny cuckoo !”said Griselda to 
herself. “ I could almost fancy it was in the 
house. I wonder if my great-aunts have a 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


7 

tame cuckoo in a cage ? I don’t think I ever 
heard of such a thing, but this is such a queer 
house ; everything seems different in it — perhaps 
they have a tame cuckoo. I’ll ask them in the 
morning. It’s very nice to hear, whatever it 

is. ” 

And with a pleasant feeling of companion, 
ship, a sense that she was not the only living 
creature awake in this dark world, Griselda lay 
listening, contentedly enough, for the sweet, 
fresh notes of the cuckoo’s friendly greeting. 
But before it sounded again through the silent 
house she was once more fast asleep. And this 
time she slept till daylight had found its way 
into all but the very darkest nooks and crannies 
of the ancient dwelling. 

She dressed herself carefully, for she had 
been warned that her aunts loved neatness and 
precision ; she fastened each button of her gray 
frock, and tied down her hair as smooth as such 
a brown tangle could be tied down; and, ab- 
sorbed with these weighty cares, she forgot all 
about the cuckoo for the time. It was not till 
she was sitting at breakfast with her aunts that 
she remembered it, or rather was reminded of 

it, by some little remark that was made about 
the friendly robins on the terrace walk outside. 


8 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Oh, aunt !” she exclaimed, stopping short 
half-way the journey to her mouth of a spoon- 
ful of bread and milk, “ have you got a cuckoo 
in a cage !” 

“ A cuckoo in a cage !” repeated her elder 
aunt, Miss Grizzel ; “what is the child talking 
about ?” 

“ In a cage !” echoed Miss Tabitha, “ a cuckoo 
in a cage !” 

“ There is a cuckoo somewhere in the house,” 
said Griselda ; “ I heard it in the night. It 
couldn’t have been out-of-doors, could it ? It 
would be too cold.” 

The aunts looked at each other with a little 
smile. “ So like her grandmother,” they whis- 
pered. Then said Miss Grizzel : 

“ We have a cuckoo, my dear, though it isn’t 
in a cage, and it isn’t exactly the sort of cuckoo 
you are thinking of. It lives in a clock.” 

“ In a clock,” repeated Miss Tabitha, as if 
to confirm her sister’s statement. 

“ In a clock !” exclaimed Griselda, opening 
her gray eyes very wide. 

It sounded something like the three bears, 
all speaking one after the other, only Griselda’s 
voice was not like Tiny’s ; it was the loudest of 
the three. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


9 


“ In a clock !” she exclaimed ; “ but it can’t 
be alive, then ?” 

“ Why not ?” said Miss Grizzel. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Griselda, looking 
puzzled. 

“ I knew a little girl once,” pursued Miss 
Grizzel, “ who was quite of opinion the cuckoo 
was alive, and nothing would have persuaded 
her it was not. Finish your breakfast, my- 
dear, and then, if you like, you shall come with 
me and see the cuckoo for yourself.” 

“ Thank you, Aunt Grizzel,” said Griselda, 
going on with her bread-and-milk. 

“ Yes,” said Miss Tabitha, “you shall see the 
cuckoo for yourself.” 

“ Thank you, Aunt Tabitha,” said Griselda. 
It was rather a bother to have always to say 
“ Thank you ” or “ No, thank you ” twice, but 
Griselda thought it was polite to do so, as 
Aunt Tabitha always repeated everything that 
Aunt Grizzel said. It wouldn’t have mattered 
so much if Aunt Tabitha had said it at once 
after Miss Grizzel ; but as she generally made 
a little pause between, it was sometimes rather 
awkward. But of course it was better to say 
“ Thank you ” or “ No, thank you” twice over 
than to hurt Aunt Tabitha’s feelings. 


10 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


After breakfast, Aunt Grizzel was as good 
as her word. She took Griselda through sev- 
eral of the rooms in the house, pointing out 
all the curiosities, and telling all the histories 
of the rooms and their contents ; and Griselda 
liked to listen, only in every room they came 
to she wondered when they would get to the 
room where lived the cuckoo. 

Aunt Tabitha did not come with them, for 
she was rather rheumatic. On the whole, 
Griselda was not sorry. It would have taken 
such a very long time, you see, to have had 
all the histories twice over; and possibly, if 
Griselda had got tired, she might have for- 
gotten about the “ Thank you’s ” or “ No, thank 
you’s ” twice over. 

The old house looked quite as queer and 
quaint by daylight as it had seemed the even- 
ing before ; almost more so, indeed, for the 
view from the windows added to the sweet, 
odd “ old-fashionedness” of everything. 

“We have beautiful roses in summer,” ob- 
served Miss Grizzel, catching sight of the direc- 
tion in which the child’s eyes were wandering 

“ I wish it was summer. I do love summer,” 
said Griselda. “ But there is a very rosy scent 
in the rooms even now. Aunt Grizzel, though 
it is winter, or nearly winter.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


11 


Miss Grizzel looked pleased. 

“ My pot-pourri,” she explained. 

They were just then standing in what she 
called the “ great saloon,” a handsome old room 
furnished with gold-and-white chairs, that must 
once have been brilliant, and faded yellow dam- 
ask hangings. A feeling of awe had crept over 
Griselda as they entered this ancient drawing- 
room. What grand parties there must have 
been in it long ago ! But as for dancing in it 
now — dancing, or laughing, or chattering — such 
a thing was quite impossible to imagine ! 

Miss Grizzel crossed the room to where stood 
in one corner a marvelous Chinese cabinet, all 
black and gold and carving. It was made in 
the shape of a temple or a palace — Griselda 
was not sure which. Anyway, it was very de- 
licious and wonderful. At the door stood, one 
on each side, two solemn mandarins ; or, to speak 
more correctly, perhaps I should say mandarin 
and his wife, for the right-hand figure was evi- 
dently intended to be a lady. 

Miss Grzziel gently touched their heads. 
Forthwith, to Griselda’s astonishment, they be- 
gan solemnly to nod. 

“ Oh, how do you make them do that, Aunt 
Grizzel ?” she exclaimed. 


l : % 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Never you mind, my dear ; it wouldn’t do 
for you to try and make tliem nod. They 
wouldn’t like it,” replied Miss Grizzel mysteri- 
ously. “ Kespect to your elders, my dear, al- 
ways remember that. The mandarins are many 
years older than you — older than I myself, in 
fact.” 

Griselda wondered, if this were so, how it 
was that Miss Grizzel took such liberties with 
them herself, but she said nothing. 

“ Here is my last summer’s pot-pourri,” con- 
tinued Miss Grizzel, touching a great china jar 
on a little stand, close beside the cabinet. “ Y ou 
may smell it, my dear.” 

Nothing loath, Griselda buried her round little 
nose in the fragrant leaves 

“ It’s lovely,” she said. “ May I smell it 
whenever I like, Aunt Grizzel ?” 

“ We shall see,” replied her aunt. “ It isn’t 
every little girl, you know, that we could trust 
to come into the great saloon alone.” 

“ No,” said Griselda meekly. 

Miss Grizzel led the way to a door opposite 
to that by which they had entered. She opened 
it and passed through, Griselda following, into 
a small anteroom. 

“ It is on the stroke of ten,” said Miss Griz- 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


13 


zel, consulting her watch ; “ now, my dear, you 
shall make acquaintance with our cuckoo.” 

The cuckoo “ that lived in a clock !” Gri- 
selda gazed round her eagerly. Where was the 
clock ? She could see nothing in the least like 
one, only up on the wall in one corner was 
what looked like a miniature house, of dark 
brown carved wood. It was not so very like a 
house, but it certainly had a roof— a roof with 
deep, projecting eaves ; and looking closer — yes, 
it was a clock, after all, only the figures, which 
had once been gilt, had grown dim with age, 
like everything else, and the hands at a little 
distance were hardly to be distinguished from 
the face. 

Miss Grizzel stood perfectly still, looking up 
at the clock ; Griselda beside her, in breathless 
expectation. Presently there came a sort of 
distant rumbling. Something was going to 
happen. Suddenly two little doors above the 
clock face, which Griselda had not known were 
there, sprang open with a burst, and out flew a 
cuckoo, flapped his wings, and uttered his 
pretty cry, “ Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo !” Miss 
Grizzel counted aloud, Seven, eight, nine, ten.” 
“ Yes, he never makes a mistake,” she added 
triumphantly. “ All these long years I have 


14 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


never known him wrong. There are no such 
clocks made nowadays, I can assure you, my 
dear.” 

“ But is it a clock ? Isn’t he alive ?” ex- 
claimed Griselda. “ He looked at me and nod- 
ded his head before he flapped his wings and 
went into his house again — he did indeed, 
aunt,” she said earnestly ; “ just like saying, 
1 How do you do V to me.” 

Again Miss Grizzel smiled, the same odd yet 
pleased smile that Griselda had seen on her 
face at breakfast. “ Just what Sybilla used to 
say,” she murmured. “Well, my dear,” she 
added aloud, “ it is quite right he should say, 
‘ How do you do V to you. It is the first time 
he has seen you, though many a year ago he 
knew your dear grandmother, and your father, 
too, when he was a little boy. You will find 
him a good friend, and one that can teach you 
many lessons.” 

“ What, Aunt Grizzel ?” inquired Griselda, 
looking puzzled. 

“ Punctuality, for one thing, and faithful dis- 
charge of duty,” replied Miss Grizzel. 

“ May I come to see the cuckoo — to watch 
for him coming out, sometimes ?” asked Gri- 
selda, who felt as if she could spend all day 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


15 


looking up at tke clock, watching for her little 
friend’s appearance. 

“ You will see him several times a day,” said 
her aunt ; “ for it is in this little room I intend 
you to prepare your tasks. It is nice and quiet, 
and nothing to disturb you, and close to the 
room where your Aunt Tabitha and I usually 
sit.” 

So saying, Miss Grizzel opened a second 
door in the little anteroom ; and, to Griselda’s 
surprise, at the foot of a short flight of stairs, 
through another door, half-open, she caught 
sight of her Aunt Tabitha, knitting quietly by 
the fire, in the room in which they had break- 
fasted. 

“ What a very funny house it is, Aunt Griz- 
zel !” she said as she followed her aunt down 
the steps. “ Every room has so many doors, 
and you come back to where you were just 
when you think you are ever so far off. I shall 
never be able to find my way about.” 

“ Oh, yes, you will, my dear, very soon,” said 
her aunt encouragingly. 

“ She is very kind,” thought Griselda ; “ but 
I wish she wouldn’t call my lessons tasks. It 
makes them sound so dreadfully hard. But, 
anyway, I’m glad I’m to do them in the room 
where that dear cuckoo lives,” 


16 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


CHAPTER II. 

IMPATIENT GRISELDA. 

“ . . . fairies but seldom appear; 

If we do wrong we must expect 
That it will cost us dear!” 

It was all very well for a few days. Griselda 
found plenty to amuse herself with while the 
novelty lasted, enough to prevent her missing 
very badly the home she had left “ over the 
sea,” and the troop of noisy, merry brothers 
who teased and petted her. Of course she 
missed them, but not “ dreadfully.” She was 
neither homesick nor “ dull.” 

It was not quite such smooth sailing when 
lessons began. She did not dislike lessons ; in 
fact, she had always thought she was rather 
fond of them. But the having to do them alone 
was not lively, and her teachers were very 
strict. The worst of all was the writing and 
arithmetic master, a funny little old man who 
wore knee-breeches and took snuff, and called 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


17 


her aunt “ Madame,” bowing formally when- 
ever he addressed her. He screwed Griselda 
up into such an unnatural attitude to write her 
copies that she really felt as if she would 
never come straight and loose again ; and the 
arithmetic part of his instructions was even 
worse. Oh ! what sums in addition he gave 
her ! Griselda had never been partial to sums ; 
and her rather easy-going governess at home 
had not, to tell the truth, been partial to them 
either. And Mr. — I can’t remember the little 
old gentleman’s name; suppose we call him 
Mr. Kneebreeches — Mr. Kneebreeches, when 
he found this out, conscientiously put her back 
to the very beginning. 

It was dreadful, really. He came twice a 
week; and the days he didn’t come were as 
bad as those he did, for he left her a whole 
row, I was going to say, but you couldn’t call 
Mr. Kneebreeches’ addition sums “ rows,” they 
were far too fat and wide across to be so 
spoken of ! — whole slatefuls of these terrible 
mountains of figures to climb wearily to the top 
of. And not to climb once up merely. The 
terrible thing was Mr. Kneebreeches’ favorite 
method of what he called “ proving.” I can’t 
explain it — it is far beyond my poor powers — 


18 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


but it had something to do with cutting off the 
top line, after you had added it all up and had 
actually done the sum, you understand — cut- 
ting off the top line and adding the long rows 
up again without it, and then joining it on 
again somewhere else. 

“ I wouldn’t mind so much,” said poor Gri- 
selda one day, “ if it was any good. But you 
see, Aunt Grizzel, it isn’t. For I’m just as 
likely to do the proving wrong as the sum 
itself — more likely, for I’m always so tired 
when I get to the proving— and so all that’s 
proved is that something’s wrong, and I’m 
sure that isn’t any good, except to make me 
cross.” 

“ Hush !” said her aunt gravely. “ That is 
not the way for a little girl to speak. Improve 
these golden hours of youth, Griselda ; they 
will never return.” 

“ I hope not,” muttered Griselda, “ if it means 
doing sums.” 

Miss Grizzel fortunately was a little deaf; 
she did not hear this remark. Just then the 
cuckoo clock struck eleven. 

“Good little cuckoo,” said Miss Grizzel. 
“ What an example he sets you. His life is 
spent in the faithful discharge of duty and 
so saying she left the room. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


19 


The cuckoo was still telling the hour — 
eleven took a good while. It seemed to Gri- 
selda that the bird repeated her aunt’s last 
words. “ Faith — ful, dis — charge of — your 
du — ty,” he said, “ faith — ful.” 

“You horrid little creature !” exclaimed Gri- 
selda in a passion ; u what business have you to 
mock me ?” 

She seized a book, the first that came to 
hand, and flung it at the bird who was just be- 
ginning his eleventh cuckoo. He disappeared 
with a snap, disappeared without flapping his 
wings, or, as Griselda always fancied he did, 
giving her a friendly nod, and in an instant all 
was silent. 

Griselda felt a little frightened. What had 
she done ? She looked up at the clock. It 
seemed just the same as usual, the cuckoo’s 
doors closely shut, no sign of any disturbance. 
Could it have been her fancy only that he had 
sprung back more hastily than he would have 
done but for her throwing the book at him ? 
She began to hope so, and tried to go on with 
her lessons. But it was no use. Though she 
really gave her best attention to the long ad- 
dition sums, and found that by so doing she 
managed them much better than before, she 


20 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


could not feel happy or at ease. Every few 
minutes she glanced up at the clock, as if she ex- 
pected the cuckoo to come out, though she 
knew quite well that there was no chance 
of his doing so till twelve o’clock, as it was only 
the hours, not the half-hours and quarters that 
he told. 

“ I wish it was twelve o’clock,” she said to 
herself anxiously more than once. 

If only the clock had not been so very high 
up on the wall, she would have been tempted 
to climb up and open the little doors, and peep 
in to satisfy herself as to the cuckoo’s condition. 
But there was no possibility of this. The 
clock was far, very far above her reach, and 
there was no high piece of furniture standing 
near upon which she could have climbed to 
get to it. There was nothing to be done but 
to wait for twelve o’clock. 

And, after all, she did not wait for twelve 
o’clock; for just about half -past eleven, Miss 
Grizzel’s voice was heard calling to her to put 
on her hat and cloak quickly, and come out to 
walk up and down the terrace with her. 

“ It is fine just now,” said Miss Grizzel, “ but 
there is a prospect of rain before long. You 
must leave your lessons for the present, and 
finish them in the afternoon.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


21 


“ I have finished them,” said Griselda meek- 

iy- 

“ All ?” inquired her aunt. 

Yes, all,” replied Griselda. 

“ Ah, well, then, this afternoon, if the rain 
holds off, we shall drive to Merry brow Hall, 
and inquire for the health of your dear god- 
mother, Lady Lavender,” said Miss Grizzel. 

Poor Griselda ! There were few things she 
disliked more than a drive with her aunts. 
They went in the old yellow chariot, with all 
the windows up ; and of course Griselda had to 
sit with her back to the horses, which made 
her very uncomfortable when she had no air, 
and had to sit still for so long. 

Merrybrow Hall was a large house, quite as 
old and much grander, but not nearly so won- 
derful as the home of Griselda’s aunts. It was 
six miles off, and it took a very long time in- 
deed to drive there in the rumbling old chariot, 
for the old horses were fat and wheezy, and 
the old coachman fat and wheezy too. Lady 
Lavender was, of course, old too — very old in- 
deed, and rather grumpy and very deaf. Miss 
Grizzel and Miss Tabitha had the greatest re- 
spect for her ; she always called them “ My 
dear,” as if they were quite girls, and they lis- 


22 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


tened to all slie said as if her words were of 
gold. For some mysterious reason she had 
been invited to be Griselda’ s godmother ; but 
as she had never shown her any proof of affec- 
tion beyond giving her a prayer-book, and hop- 
ing, whenever she saw her, that she was “ a 
good little miss,” Griselda did not feel any 
particular cause for gratitude to her. 

The drive seemed longer and duller than ever 
this afternoon, but Griselda bore it meekly ; 
and when Lady Lavender, as usual, expressed 
her hopes about her, the little girl looked down 
modestly, feeling her cheeks grow scarlet. “ I 
am not a good little girl at all,” she felt inclined 
to call out. “ I’m very bad and cruel. I be- 
lieve I’ve killed the dear little cuckoo.” 

What would the three old ladies have thought 
if she had called it out ? As it was, Lady Lav- 
ander patted her approvingly, said she loved to 
see young people modest and humble-minded, 
and gave her a slice of very highly spiced, 
rather musty gingerbread, which Griselda 
couldn’t bear. 

All the way home Griselda felt in a fever of 
impatience to rush up to the anteroom and see 
if the cuckoo was all right again. It was late 
and dark when the chariot at last stopped at 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


23 


the door of the old house. Miss Grizzel got 
out slowly, and still more slowly Miss Tabitha 
followed her. Griselda was obliged to restrain 
herself and move demurely. 

“ It is past your supper-time, my dear,” said 
Miss Grizzel. “ Go up at once to your room, 
and Dorcas shall bring some supper to you. 
Late hours are bad for young people.” 

Griselda obediently wished her aunts good- 
night, and went quietly upstairs. But once 
out of sight, at the first landing, she changed 
her pace. She turned to the left instead of to 
the right, which led to her own room, and flew 
rather than ran along the dimly lighted passage, 
at the end of which a door led into the great 
saloon. She opened the door. All was quite 
dark. It was impossible to fly or run across 
the great saloon ! Even in daylight this would 
have been a difficult matter. Griselda felt her 
way as best she could, past the Chinese cabinet 
and the pot-pourri jar, till she got to the ante- 
room door. It was open, and now, knowing 
her way better, she hurried in. But what was 
the use ? All was silent, save the tick-tick of 
the cuckoo clock in the corner. Oh, if only the 
cuckoo would come out and call the hour 
as usual, what a weight would be lifted off 
Griselda’s heart ! 


24 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


She had no idea what o’clock it was. It 
might be close to the hour, or it might be just 
past it. She stood listening for a few minutes ; 
then hearing Miss Grizzel’s voice in the dis- 
tance, she felt that she dared not stay any 
longer, and turned to feel her way out of the 
room again. Just as she got to the door, it 
seemed to her that something softly brushed 
her cheek, and a very, very faint “ cuckoo ” 
sounded as it were in the air close to her. 

Startled, but not frightened, Griselda stood 
perfectly still. 

“ Cuckoo,” she said softly. But there was 
no answer. 

Again the tones of Miss Grizzel’s voice com- 
ing upstairs reached her ear. 

“ I must go,” said Griselda ; and finding her 
way across the saloon without, by great good 
luck, tumbling against any of the many break- 
able treasures with which it was filled, she flew 
down the long passage again, reaching her own 
room just before Dorcas appeared with her 
supper. 

Griselda slept badly that night. She was 
constantly dreaming of the cuckoo, fancying 
she heard his voice, and then waking with a 
start to find it was only fancy. She looked 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


25 


pale and heavy-eyed when she came down to 
breakfast the next morning ; and her Aunt 
Tabitha, who was alone in the room when she 
entered, began immediately asking her what 
was the matter. 

“ I am sure you are going to be ill, child,” 
she said nervously. “ Sister Grizzel must give 
you some medicine. I wonder what would be 
the best. Tansy tea is an excellent thing when 
one has taken cold, or — ” 

But the rest of Miss Tabitha’s sentence was 
never heard ; for at this moment Miss Grizzel 
came hurriedly into the room — her cap awry, 
her shawl disarranged, her face very pale. I 
hardly think any one had ever seen her so dis- 
composed before. 

“ Sister Tabitha !” she exclaimed, “ what can 
be going to happen ? The cuckoo clock has 
stopped.” 

“ The cuckoo clock has stopped !” repeated 
Miss Tabitha, holding up her hands ; “ im- 
possible !” 

“ But it has, or rather I should say — dear 
me, I am so upset I cannot explain myself — 
the cuckoo has stopped. The clock is going 
on ; but the cuckoo has not told the hours, and 
Dorcas is of opinion that he left off doing so 


26 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


yesterday. "What can be going to happen ? 
What shall we do ?” • 

“ What can we do ?” said Miss Tabitha. 
“ Should we send for the watchmaker ?” 

Miss Grizzel shook her head. 

“ ’Twould be worse than useless. Were we 
to search the world oyer, we could find no one 
to put it right. Fifty years and more, Tabitha, 
fifty years and more, it has never missed an 
hour ! We are getting old, Tabitha, our day 
is nearly over; perhaps ’tis to remind us of 
this.” 

Miss Tabitha did not reply. She was weep- 
ing silently. The old ladies seemed to have 
forgotten the presence of their niece, but Gri- 
selda could not bear to see their distress. She 
finished her breakfast as cjuickly as she could, 
and left the room. 

On her way upstairs she met Dorcas. 

“Have you heard what has happened, little 
missie ?” said the old servant. 

“ Yes,” replied Griselda. 

“ My ladies are in great trouble,” continued 
Dorcas, who seemed inclined to be more com- 
municative than usual, “ and no wonder. For 
fifty years that clock has never gone wrong.” 

“ Can’t it be put right ?” asked the child. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


27 


Dorcas shook her head. 

“No good would come of interfering,” she 
said. “ What must be, must be. The luck of 
the house hangs on that clock. Its maker 
spent a good part of his life over it ; and his 
last words were that it would bring good luck 
to the house that owned it, but that trouble 
would follow its silence. It’s my belief,” she 
added solemnly, “ that it’s a fairy clock, neither 
more nor less ; for good luck it has brought, 
there’s no denying. There are no cows like 
ours, missie — their milk is a proverb here- 
about ; there are no hens like ours for laying 
all the year round; there are no roses like 
ours. And there’s always a friendly feeling 
in this house, and always has been. ’Tis not 
a house for wrangling and jangling, and sharp 
words. The ‘ good people ’ can’t stand that. 
Nothing drives them away like ill-temper or 
anger.” 

Griselda’s conscience gave her a sharp prick. 
Could it be her doing that trouble was coming 
upon the old house ? What a punishment for 
a moment’s fit of ill-temper ! 

“ I wish you wouldn’t talk that way, Dorcas,” 
she said ; “ it makes me so unhappy.” 

“ What a feeling heart the child has !” said 


28 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


the old servant as she went on her way down- 
stairs. “ It's true — she is very like Miss 
Sybilla.” 

That day was a very weary and sad one for 
Griselda. She was oppressed by a feeling she 
did not understand. She knew she had done 
wrong, but she had sorely repented it, and “ I 
do think the cuckoo might have come back 
again,” she said to herself, “ if he is a fairy ; 
and if he isn’t it can’t be true what Dorcas 
says.” 

Her aunts made no allusion to the subject in 
her presence, and almost seemed to have for- 
gotten that she had known of their distress. 
They were more grave and silent than usual, 
but otherwise things went on in their ordinary 
way. Griselda spent the morning “at her 
tasks,” in the anteroom, but was thankful to 
get away from the tick-tick of the clock in the 
corner, and out into the garden. 

But there, alas ! it was just as bad. The 
rooks seemed to know that something was the 
matter ; they set to work making such a 
chatter immediately Griselda appeared that 
she felt inclined to run back into the house 
again. 

“ I am sure they are talking about me,” she 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


29 


said to herself. “ Perhaps they are fairies too. 
I am beginning to think I don’t like fairies.” 

She was glad when bedtime came. It was a 
sort of reproach to her to see her aunts so pale 
and troubled ; and though she tried to per- 
suade herself that she thought them very silly, 
she could not throw off the uncomfortable 
feeling. 

She was so tired when she went to bed — 
tired in the disagreeable way that comes from 
a listless, uneasy day — that she fell asleep at 
once and slept heavily. When she woke, 
which she did suddenly, and with a start, it 
was still perfectly dark, like the first morning 
that she had wakened in the old house. It 
seemed to her that she had not wakened 
of herself — something had roused her. Yes ! 
there it was again, a very, very soft, distant 
“ cuckoo.” Was it distant ? She could not 
tell. Almost she could have fancied it was 
close to her. 

“If it’s that cuckoo come back again, I’ll 
catch him !” exclaimed Griselda. 

She darted out of bed, felt her way to the 
door, which was closed, and opening it, let in a 
rush of moonlight from the unshuttered passage 
window. In another moment her little bare 


30 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


feet were pattering along the passage at full 
speed, in the direction of the great saloon. 

For Griselda’s childhood among the troop of 
noisy brothers had taught her one lesson — she 
was afraid of nothing. Or, rather, perhaps I 
should say she had never learned that there was 
anything to be afraid of ! And is there ? 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


31 


CHAPTER III. 

OBEYING ORDERS. 

ce Little girl, thou must thy part fulfill. 

If we're to take kindly to ours: 

Then pull up the weeds with a will. 

And fairies will cherish the flowers." 

There was moonlight, though not so much, 
in the saloon and the anteroom too ; for 
though the windows, like those in Griselda’s 
bedroom, had the shutters closed, there was 
a round part at the top, high up, which the 
shutters did not reach to, and in crept, through 
these clear uncovered panes, quite as many 
moonbeams, you may be sure, as could find 
their way. 

Griselda, eager though she was, could not 
help standing still a moment to admire the 
effect. 

“ It looks prettier with the light coming in 
at those holes at the top than even if the 
shutters were open,” she said to herself. “ How 


32 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


goldy-silvery the cabinet loots ; and, yes, I do 
declare, the mandarins are nodding ! I wonder 
if it is out of politeness to me, or does Aunt 
Grizzel come in last thing at night and touch 
them to make them keep nodding till morning ? 
I suppose they’re a sort of policemen to the 
palace ; and I dare say there are all sorts of 
beautiful things inside. How I should like to 
see all through it !” 

But at this moment the faint tick-tick of the 
cuckoo clock in the next room, reaching her 
ear, reminded her of the object of this mid- 
night expedition of hers. She hurried into the 
anteroom. 

It looked darker than the great saloon, for 
it had but one window. But through the un- 
covered space at the top of this window there 
penetrated some brilliant moonbeams, one of 
which lighted up brightly the face of the clock 
with its queer overhanging eaves. 

Griselda approached it and stood below 
looking up. 

“ Cuckoo,” she said softly — very softly. 

But there was no reply. 

“ Cuckoo,” she repeated rather more loudly. 
“ Why won’t you speak to me ? I know you 
are there, and you’re not asleep, for I heard 

























THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


33 


your voice in my own room. Why won’t you 
come out, cuckoo ?” 

“ Tick-tick,” said the clock ; but there was 
no other reply. 

Griselda felt ready to cry. 

“ Cuckoo,” she said reproachfully, “ I didn’t 
think you were so hard-hearted. I have been 
so unhappy about you, and I was so pleased to 
hear your voice again, for I thought I had 
killed you, or hurt you very badly ; and I didn’t 
mean to hurt you, cuckoo. I was sorry the 
moment I had done it, dreadfully sorry. Dear 
cuckoo, won’t you forgive me ?” 

There was a little sound at last — a faint 
coming sound, and by the moonlight Griselda 
saw the doors open, and out flew the cuckoo. 
He stood still for a moment, looked round him 
as it were, and then gently flapped his wings, 
and uttered — “ Cuckoo.” 

Griselda stood in breathless expectation, but 
in her delight she could not help very softly 
clapping her hands. 

The cuckoo cleared his throat. You never 
heard such a funny little noise as he made ; 
and then, in a very clear, distinct, but yet 
“ cuckoo-y ” voice, he spoke. 

“ Griselda,” he said, “ are you truly sorry ?” 


u 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ I told yon I was,” she replied. “ But I 
didn’t feel so very naughty, cuckoo. I didn’t, 
really. I was only vexed for one minute, and 
when I threw the book I seemed to be a very 
little in fun too. And it made me so unhappy 
when you went away, and my poor aunts have 
been dreadfully unhappy too. If you hadn't 
come back I should have told them to-morrow 
what I had done. I would have told them be- 
fore, but I was afraid it would have made them 
more unhappy. I thought I had hurt you 
dreadfully.” 

“ So you did,” said the cuckoo. 

“ But you look quite well,” said Griselda. 

“It was my feelings,” replied the cuckoo ; 
“ and I couldn’t help going away. I have to 
obey orders like other people.” 

Griselda stared. “ How do you mean ?” she 
asked. 

“ Never mind. You can’t understand at 
present,” said the cuckoo. “ You can under- 
stand about obeying your orders ; and you see, 
when you don’t, things go wrong.” 

“ Yes,” said Griselda humbly, “ they cer- 
tainly do. But, cuckoo,” she continued, “ I 
never used to get into tempers at home — 
hardly never, at least ; and I liked my lessons 
then, and I never was scolded about them.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


35 


“ What’s wrong here, then ?” said the cuckoo. 
“ It isn’t often that things go wrong in this 
house.” 

“ That’s what Dorcas says,” said Griselda. 
“ It must be with my being a child — my aunts 
and the house and everything have got out of 
children’s ways.” 

“ About time they did,” remarked the cuckoo 
dryly. 

“ And so,” continued Griselda, “ it is really 
very dull, I have lots of lessons, but it isn’t 
so much that I mind. It is that I’ve no one to 
play with.” 

“ There’s something in that,” said the cuckoo. 
He flapped his wings and was silent for a 
minute or two. “ I’ll consider about it,” he 
observed at last. 

“ Thank you,” said Griselda, not exactly 
knowing what else to say. 

“And in the mean time,” continued the 
cuckoo, “ you’d better obey present orders and 
go back to bed.” 

“ Shall I say good-night to you, then ?” asked 
Griselda somewhat timidly. 

“ You’re quite welcome to do so,” replied the 
cuckoo. “ Why shouldn’t you ?” 

“ You see, I wasn’t sure if you would like 


36 THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 

it,” returned Griselda ; “ for of course you’re 
not like a person, and — and — I’ve been told all 
sorts of queer tilings about what fairies like 
and don’t like.” 

“ Who said I was a fairy ?” inquired the 
cuckoo. 

u Dorcas did ; and, of course, my own com- 
mon-sense did too,” replied Griselda. “ You 
must be a fairy — you couldn’t be anything 
else.” 

“ I might be a fairyfied cuckoo,” suggested 
the bird. 

Griselda looked puzzled. 

“ I don’t understand,” she said ; “ and I don’t 
think it could make much difference. But 
whatever you are, I wish you would tell me one 
thing.” 

“ What ?” said the cuckoo. 

“I want to know, now that you’ve forgiven 
me for throwing the book at you, have you 
come back for good ?” 

“ Certainly not for evil,” replied the cuckoo. 

Griselda gave a little wriggle. “ Cuckoo, 
you’re laughing at me,” she said. “ I mean, 
have you come back to stay and cuckoo as 
usual, and make my aunts happy again ?” 

“ You’ll see in the morning,” said the cuckoo. 
“ Now go off to bed.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


37 


“ Good-night,” said Griselda, “ and thank 
you, and please don’t forgot to let me know 
when you’ve considered.” 

“ Cuckoo, cuckoo,” was her little friend’s 
reply. Griselda thought it was meant for 
good-night, but the fact of the matter was that 
at that exact second of time it was two o’clock 
in the morning. 

She made her way back to bed. She had 
been standing some time talking to the cuckoo ; 
but though it was now well on in November, 
she did not feel the least cold, nor sleepy ! 
She felt as happy and light-hearted as possible; 
and she wished it was morning, that she might 
get up. Yet the moment she laid her little 
brown curly head on the pillow, she fell asleep ; 
and it seemed to her that just as she dropped 
off, a soft, feathery wing brushed her cheek 
gently, and a tiny “ Cuckoo ” sounded in her 
ear. 

When she woke it was bright morning, really 
bright morning, for the wintry sun was already 
sending some clear yellow rays out into the pale 
gray-blue sky. 

“ It must be late,” thonght Griselda, when 
she had opened the shutters and seen how light 
it was. “ I must have slept a long time. I 


38 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


feel so beautifully unsleepy now. I must dress 
quickly — how nice it will be to see my aunts 
look happy again ! I don’t even care if they 
scold me for being late.” 

But, after all, it was not so much later than 
usual ; it was only a much brighter morning 
than they had had for some time. Griselda did 
dress herself very quickly, however. As she 
went downstairs two or three of the clocks in 
the house, for there were several, were striking 
eight. These clocks must have been a little 
before the right time, for it was not till they 
had again relapsed into silence that there rang 
out from the anteroom the clear, sweet tones, 
eight times repeated, of “ Cuckoo.” 

Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha were already 
at the breakfast-table, but they received their 
little niece most graciously. Nothing was said 
about the clock, however, till about half-way 
through the meal, when Griselda, full of eager- 
ness to know if her aunts were aware of the 
cuckoo’s return, could restrain herself no 
longer. 

“ Aunt Grizzel,” she said, “ isn’t the cuckoo 
all right again ?” 

“ Yes, my dear; I am delighted to say it is,” 
replied Miss Grizzel, 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


39 


“ Did you get it put right, Aunt Grizzel ?” 
inquired Griselda slyly. 

u Little girls should not ask so many ques- 
tions,” replied Miss Grizzel mysteriously. “ It 
is all right again, and that is enough. During 
fifty years that cuckoo has never, till yesterday, 
missed an hour. If you, in your sphere, my 
dear, do as well during fifty years, you won’t 
have done badly.” 

“ No, indeed, you won’t have done badly,” 
repeated Miss Tabitha. 

But though the two old ladies thus tried to 
improve the occasion by a little lecturing, Gri- 
selda could see that, at the bottom of their 
hearts, they were both so happy that, even 
if she had been very naughty indeed, they 
could hardly have made up their minds to 
scold her. 

She was not at all inclined to be naughty 
this day. She had something to think about 
and look forward to, which made her quite 
a different little girl, and made her take 
heart in doing her lessons as well as she pos- 
sibly could. 

“ I wonder when the cuckoo will have con- 
sidered enough about my having no one to play 
with ?” she said to herself as she was walking 


40 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


up and down the terrace at the back of the 
house. 

“ Caw ! caw !” screamed a rook just over her 
head, as if in answer to her thought. 

Griselda looked up at him. 

“ Your voice isn’t half so pretty as the 
cuckoo’s, Mr. Kook,” she said. “ All the same, 
I dare say I should make friends w T ith you, if I 
understood what you meant. How funny it 
would be to know all the languages of the birds 
and the beasts, like the prince in the fairy tale ! 
I wonder if I should wish for that, if a fairy 
gave me a wish? No, I don’t think I would. 
I’d far rather have the fairy carpet, that would 
take you anywhere you liked in a minute. I’d 
go to China to see if all the people there looked 
like Aunt Grizzel’s mandarins ; and I’d first of 
all, of course, go to fairy-land.” 

“ You must come in now, little missie,” said 
Dorcas’ voice. “Miss Grizzel says you have 
had play enough, and there’s a nice fire in the 
anteroom for you to do your lessons by.” 

“ Play !” repeated Griselda indignantly as 
she turned to follow the old servant. “ Do you 
call walking up and down the terrace ‘play,’ 
Dorcas ? I mustn’t loiter even to pick a flower, 
if there were any, for fear of catching cold, and 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


41 


I mustn’t run for fear of overheating myself. 
I declare, Dorcas, if I don’t have some play 
soon, or something to amuse me, I think I’ll 
run away.” 

“Nay, nay, missie, don’t talk like that. 
You’d never do anything so naughty, and you 
so like Miss Sybilla, who was so good.” 

“ Dorcas, I’m tired of being told I’m like 
Miss Sybilla,” said Griselda impatiently. “ She 
was my grandmother; no one would like to 
be told they were like their grandmother. It 
makes me feel as if my face must be all screwy- 
up and wrinkly, and as if I should have specta- 
cles on, and a wig.” 

“That is not like what Miss Sybilla was 
when I first saw her,” said Dorcas. “ She was 
younger than you, missie, and as pretty as a 
fairy.” 

“Was she?” exclaimed Griselda, stopping 
short. 

“Yes, indeed she was. She might have 
been a fairy, so sweet she was and gentle — 
and yet so merry. Every creature loved her ; 
even the animals about seemed to know her, 
as if she was one of themselves. She brought 
good luck to the house, and it was a sad day 
when she left it.” 


42 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


“ I thought you said it was the cuckoo that 
brought good luck ?” said Griselda. 

“Well, so it was. The cuckoo and Miss 
Sybilla came here the same day. It was left 
to her by her mother’s father, with whom she 
had lived since she was a baby, and when he 
died she came here to her sisters. She wasn’t 
own sister to my ladies, you see, missie. Her 
mother had come from Germany; and it was 
in some strange place there, where her grand- 
father lived, that the cuckoo clock was made. 
They make wonderful clocks there, I’ve been 
told, but none more wonderful than our cuckoo, 
I’m sure.” 

“ No, I’m sure not,” said Griselda softly. 
“ Why didn’t Miss Sybilla take it with her 
when she was married and went away ?” 

“She knew her sisters were so fond of it. 
It was like a memory of her left behind for 
them. It was like a part of her. And do you 
know, missie, the night she died — she died 
soon after your father was born, a year after 
she was married — for a whole hour, from 
twelve to one, that cuckoo went on cuckooing 
in a soft, sad way, like some living creature 
in trouble. Of course, we did not know any- 
thing was wrong with her, and folks said 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


43 


something had caught some of the springs of the 
works ; but I didn’t think so, and never shall. 
And ” 

But here Dorcas’ reminiscences were ab- 
ruptly brought to a close by Miss Grizzel’s 
appearance at the other end of the terrace. 

“ Griselda, what are you loitering so for ? 
Dorcas, you should have hastened, not delayed 
Miss Griselda.” 

So Griselda was hurried off to her lessons, 
and -Dorcas to her kitchen. But Griselda did 
not much mind. She had plenty to think of 
and wonder about, and she liked to do her 
lessons in the anteroom, with the tick-tick of 
the clock in her ears, and the feeling that per- 
haps the cuckoo was watching her through 
some invisible peep-hole in his closed doors. 

“ And if he sees,” thought Griselda, “ if he 
sees how hard I am trying to do my lessons 
well, it will perhaps make him quick about 
‘ considering.’ ” 

So she did try very hard. And she didn’t 
speak to the cuckoo when he came out to say 
it was four o’clock. She was busy and he was 
busy. She felt it was better to wait till he 
gave her some sign of being ready to talk to 
her again. 


44 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


For fairies, you know, children, however 
charming, are sometimes rather queer to have 
to do with. They don’t like to be interfered 
with, or treated except with very great respect ; 
and they have their own ideas about what is 
proper and what isn’t, I can assure you. 

I suppose it was with working so hard at 
her lessons — most people would say it was 
with having been up the night before, running 
about the house in the moonlight ; but as she 
had never felt so “ fresh ” in her life as when 
she got up that morning, it could hardly have 
been that — that Griselda felt so tired and 
sleepy that evening, she could hardly keep her 
eyes open. She begged to go to bed quite half 
an hour earlier than usual, which made Miss 
Tabitha afraid again that she was going to be 
ill. But as there is nothing better for children 
than to go to bed early, even if they are going 
to be ill, Miss Grizzel told her to say good- 
night, and to ask Dorcas to give her a wine- 
glassful of elderberry wine, nice and hot, after 
she was in bed. 

Griselda had no objection to the elderberry 
wine, though she felt she was having it on false 
pretenses. She certainly did not need it to 
send her to sleep, for almost before her head 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


45 


touched the pillow she was as sound as a top. 
She had slept a good long while, when again 
she awakened suddenly — just as she had done 
the night before, and again with the feeling 
that something had awakened her. And the 
queer thing was that the moment she was 
awake she felt so very awake — she had no 
inclination to stretch and yawn, and hope it 
wasn’t quite time to get up, and think how 
nice and warm bed was, and how cold it was 
outside ! She sat straight up, and peered out 
into the darkness, feeling quite ready for an 
adventure. 

“ It is you, cuckoo ?” she said softly. 

There was no answer ; but, listening intently, 
the child fancied she heard a faint rustling or 
fluttering in the corner of the room by the 
door. She got up and, feeling her way, opened 
it ; and the instant she had done so she heard, 
a few steps only in front of her, it seemed, the 
familiar notes, very, very soft and whispered, 
“Cuckoo, cuckoo.” 

It went on and on, down the passage, Gri- 
selda trotting after. There was no moon to- 
night ; heavy clouds had quite hidden it, and 
outside the rain was falling heavily. Griselda 
could hear it on the window-panes, through the 


46 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


closed shutters and all. But, dark as it was, 
she made her way along without any difficulty, 
down the passage, across the great saloon, in 
through the anteroom door, guided only by 
the little voice now and then to be heard in 
front of her. .She came to a standstill right 
before the clock, and stood there for a minute 
or two, patiently waiting. 

She had not very long to wait. There came 
the usual murmuring sound, then the doors 
above the clock face opened — she heard them 
open, it was far too dark to see — and in his 
ordinary voice, clear and distinct (it was just 
two o’clock, so the cuckoo was killing two birds 
with one stone, telling the hour and greeting 
Griselda at once), the bird sang out, “ Cuckoo, 
cuckoo.” 

“ Good-evening, cuckoo,” said Griselda when 
he had finished. 

“ Good-morning, you mean,” said the cuckoo. 

“ Good-morning, then, cuckoo,” said Griselda, 
“ Have you considered about me, cuckoo ?” 

The cuckoo cleared his throat. 

“ Have you learned to obey orders yet, Gri- 
selda ?” he inquired. 

“I’m trying,” replied Griselda. “But you 
see, cuckoo, I’ve not had very long to learn 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


4? 


it — it was only last night yon told me, you 
know.” 

The cuckoo sighed. 

“ You’ve a great deal to learn, Griselda.” 

“ I dare say I have,” she said. “ But I can 
tell you one thing, cuckoo — whatever lessons 
I have, I couldn’t ever have any worse than 
those addition sums of Mr. Kneebreeches’. I 
have made up my mind about that, for to-day , 
do you know, cuckoo ” 

“Yesterday,” corrected the cuckoo. “Al- 
ways be exact in your statements, Griselda.” 

“Well, yesterday, then,” said Griselda rather 
tartly ; “ though when you know quite well 
what I mean, I don’t see that you need be so 
very particular. Well, as I was saying, I tried 
and tried, but still they were fearful. They 
were, indeed.” 

“ You’ve a great deal to learn, Griselda,” re- 
peated the cuckoo. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t say that so often,” 
said Griselda. “ I thought you were going to 
play with me.” 

“ There’s something in that,” said the cuckoo, 
“ there’s something in that. I should like to talk 
about it. But we could talk more comfortably 
if you would come up here and sit beside 
me.” 


48 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Griselda thought her friend must be going 
out of his mind. 

“ Sit beside you up there !” she exclaimed, 
“ Cuckoo, how could I ? I’m far, far too big.” 

“ Big !” returned the cuckoo. What do 
you mean by big ? It’s all a matter of fancy. 
Don’t you know that if the world and every- 
thing in it, counting yourself of course, were 
all made little enough to go into a walnut, you’d 
never find out the difference ?” 

“ Wouldn’t I?” said Griselda, feeling rather 
muddled ; “ but not counting myself, cuckoo, 
I would then, wouldn’t I ?” 

“ Nonsense,” said the cuckoo hastily ; “ you’ve 
a great deal to learn, and one thing is, not to 
argue. Nobody should argue ; it’s a shocking 
bad habit, and ruins the digestion. Come up 
here and sit beside me comfortably. Catch 
hold of the chain ; you’ll find you can manage 
if you try.” 

“ But it’ll stop the clock,” said Griselda. 
“ Aunt Grizzel said I was never to touch the 
weights or the chains.” 

u Stuff,” said the cuckoo ; “ it won’t stop the 
clock. Catch hold of the chains and swing 
yourself up. There now — I told you you could 
manage it.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


49 


CHAPTER IV. 

THE COUNTRY OF THE NODDING MANDARINS. 

“ 'WVre all nodding, nid-nid-nodding.” 

How she managed it she never knew ; but, 
somehow or other, it was managed. She 
seemed to slide up the chain just as easily 
as in a general way she would have slid 
down, only without any disagreeable antici- 
pation of a bump at the end of the journey. 
And when she got to the top how wonderfully 
different it looked from anything she could have 
expected ! The doors stood open ; and Griselda 
found them quite big enough, or herself quite 
small enough — which it was she couldn’t tell, 
and as it was all a matter of fancy, she decided 
not to trouble to inquire — to pass through 
quite comfortably. 

And inside there was the most charming 
little snuggery imaginable. It was something 
like a saloon railway carriage — it seemed to be 


50 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


all lined and carpeted and everything, with rich 
mossy red velvet ; there was a little round table 
in the middle and two arm-chairs, on one of 
which sat the cuckoo — “ quite like other 
people,” thought Griselda to herself — while 
the other, as he pointed out to Griselda by a 
little nod, was evidently intended for her. 

“ Thank you,” said she, sitting down on the 
chair as she spoke. 

“ Are you comfortable ?” asked the cuckoo. 

“ Quite,” replied Griselda, looking about her 
with great satisfaction. “ Are all cuckoo clocks 
tike this when you get up inside them ?” she 
inquired. “ I can’t think how there’s room for 
this dear little place between the clock and the 
wall. Is it a hole cut out of the wall on pur- 
pose, cuckoo ?” 

“ Hush !” said the cuckoo, “ we’ve got other 
things to talk about. First, shall I lend you 
one of my mantles? You may feel cold.” 

“ I don’t just now,” replied Griselda ; “ but 
perhaps I might.” 

She looked at her little bare feet as she 
spoke, and wondered why they weren’t cold, 
for it was very chilblainy weather. 

The cuckoo stood up, and with one of his 
claws reached from a corner, where it was 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


51 


hanging, a cloak which Griselda had not 
before noticed. For it was hanging wrong 
side out, and the lining was red velvet, very 
like what the sides of the little room were 
covered with, so it was no wonder she had not 
noticed it. 

Had it been hanging the right side out she 
must have done so ; this side was so very won- 
derful ! 

It was all feathers — feathers of every shade 
and color, but beautifully worked in, somehow, 
so as to lie quite smoothly and evenly, one 
color melting away into another like those in 
a prism, so that you could hardly tell where 
one began and another ended. 

“ What a lovely cloak !” said Griselda, wrap- 
ping it round her, and feeling even more com- 
fortable than before as she watched the rays 
of the little lamp in the roof — I think I was 
forgetting to tell you that the cuckoo’s boudoir 
was lighted by a dear little lamp set into the 
red velvet roof like a pearl in a ring — playing 
softly on the brilliant colors of the feather 
mantle. 

“ It’s better than lovely,” said the cuckoo, 
“as you shall see. Now, Griselda,” he con- 
tinued, in the tone of one coming to business, 
“ now, Griselda, let us talk.” 


52 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“We have been talking,” said Griselda, 
“ ever so long. I am very comfortable. 
When you say i Let us talk ’ like that it 
makes me forget all I wanted to say. Just 
let me sit still and say whatever comes into 
my head.” 

“ That won’t do,” said the cuckoo ; “ we must 
have a plan of action.” 

“ A what ?” said Griselda. 

“ You see, you have a great deal to learn,” 
said the cuckoo triumphantly. “You don’t 
understand w T hat I say.” 

“ But I didn’t come up here to learn,” said 
Griselda ; “ I can do that down there and 
she nodded her head in the direction of the 
anteroom table. “ I want to play.” 

“ Just so,” said the cuckoo ; “ that’s what I 
want to talk about. What do you call ‘ play ’ 
— blind-man’s-buff and that sort of thing ?” 

“ No,” said Griselda, considering. “ I’m get- 
ting rather too big for that kind of play. Be- 
sides, cuckoo, you and I alone couldn’t have 
much fun at blind-man’s-buff ; there’d be only 
me to catch you, or you to catch me.” 

“ Oh, we could easily get more,” said the 
cuckoo. “ The mandarins would be pleased to 
join” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


53 


“ The mandarins !” repeated Griselda. “ Why, 
cuckoo, they’re not alive ! How could they 
play ?” 

The cuckoo looked at her gravely for a 
minute, then shook his head. 

“ You have a great deal to learn,” he said 
solemnly. “ Don’t you know that everything’s 
alive ?” 

“ No,” said Griselda, “ I don’t ; and I don’t 
know what you mean, and I don’t think I want 
to know what you mean. I want to talk about 
playing.” 

“ Well,” said the cuckoo, “talk.” 

“ What I call playing,” pursued Griselda, “ is 
— I have thought about it now, you see — is 
being amused. If you will amuse me, cuckoo, 
I will count that you are playing with me.” 

“ How shall I amuse you ?” incpiired he. 

“ Oh, that’s for you to find out !” exclaimed 
Griselda. “ You might tell me fairy stories, 
you know : if you’re a fairy, you should know 
lots ; or — -oh, yes, of course that would be far 
nicer — if you are a fairy, you might take me 
with you to fairy-land.” 

Again the cuckoo shook his head. 

“ That,” said he, “ I cannot do.” 

“ Why not ?” said Griselda. “ Lots of chil- 
dren have been there.” 


54 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ I doubt it,” said the cuckoo. “ Some may 
have been, but not lots. And some may have 
thought they had been there who hadn’t really 
been there at all. And as to those who have 
been there, you may be sure of one thing — 
they were not taken, they found their own way. 
No one ever was taken to fairy-land — to the 
real fairy-land They may have been taken to 
the neighboring countries, but not to fairy-land 
itself.” 

“ And how is one ever to find one’s own way 
there ?” asked Griselda. 

“ That I cannot tell you either,” replied the 
cuckoo. “ There are many roads there ; you 
may find yours some day. And if ever you do 
find it, be sure you keep what you see of it well 
swept and clean, and then you may see further 
after awhile. Ah, yes, there are many roads 
and many doors into fairy -land !” 

“ Doors !” cried Griselda. “ Are there any 
doors into fairy -land in this house ?” 

“ Several,” said the cuckoo ; “ but don’t 
waste your time looking for them at present. 
It would be no use.” 

“ Then how will you amuse me ?” inquired 
Griselda, in a rather disappointed tone. 

“ Don’t you care to go anywhere except to 
fairy -land ?” said the cuckoo. 





Mandarins Nodding.— P a^e 55 , 




THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


55 


“ Oh, yes ; there are lots of places I wouldn’t 
mind seeing. Not geography sort of places — 
it would be just like lessons to go to India and 
Africa and all those places — but queer places, 
like the mines where the goblins make diamonds 
and precious stones, and the caves down under 
the sea where the mermaids live. And — oh, 
I’ve just thought — now I’m so nice and little, 
I would like to go all over the mandarins’ 
palace in the great saloon.” 

u That can be easily managed,” said the 
cuckoo; “but — excuse me for an instant,” he 
exclaimed suddenly. He gave a spring forward 
and disappeared. Then Griselda heard his 
voice outside the doors, “ Cuckoo, cuckoo, 
cuckoo.” It was three o’clock. 

The doors opened again to let him through, 
and he resettled himself on his chair. “ As I 
was saying,” he went on, “ nothing could be 
easier. But that palace, as you call it, has an 
entrance on the other side, as well as the one 
you know.” 

“ Another door, do you mean ?” said Griselda. 
“ How funny ! Does it go through the wall ? 
And where does it lead to ?” 

“ It leads,” replied the cuckoo, “ it leads to 
the country of the Nodding Mandarins.” 


66 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ What fun !” exclaimed Griselda, clapping 
her hands. “ Cuckoo, do let us go there. How 
can we get down ? You can fly, but must I 
slide down the chain again ?” 

“ Oh, dear, no,”' said the cuckoo, “ by no 
means. You have only to stretch out your 
feather mantle, flap it as if it was wings — so ” 
— he 'flapped his own wings encouragingly — 
“ wish, and there you’ll be.” 

“ Where ?” said Griselda bewilderedly. 

“ Wherever you wish to be, of course,” said 
the cuckoo. “ Are you ready ? Here goes.” 

“Wait — wait a moment,” cried Griselda. 
“ Where am I to wish to be ?” 

“ Bless the child !” exclaimed the cuckoo. 
“ Where do you wish to be ? You said you 
wanted to visit the country of the Nodding 
Mandarins.” 

“ Yes ; but am I to wish first to be in the 
palace in the great saloon ?” 

“Certainly,” replied the cuckoo. “That is 
the entrance to Mandarin Land, and you said 
you would like to see through it. So — you’re 
surely ready now ?” 

“ A thought has just struck me,” said Gri- 
selda. “ How will you know what o’clock it 
is, so as to come back in time to tell the next 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


57 


hour ? My aunts will get into such a fright if 
you go wrong again ! Are you sure we shall 
have time to go to the mandarins’ country to- 
night ?” 

“ Time !” repeated the cuckoo ; “ what is 
time ? Ah, Griselda, you have a very great 
deal to learn ! What do you mean by time ?” 

“I don’t know,” replied Griselda, feeling 
rather snubbed. u Being slow or quick — I 
suppose that’s what I mean.” 

“ And what is slow, and what is quick ?” 
said the cuckoo. “ All a matter of fancy ! If 
everything that’s been done since the world 
was made till now was done over again 
in five minutes, you’d never know the differ- 
ence.” 

“ Oh, cuckoo, I wish you wouldn’t !” cried 
poor Griselda ; “ you’re worse than sums, you 
do so puzzle me. It’s like what you said about 
nothing being big or little, only it’s worse. 
Where would all the days and hours be if there 
was nothing but minutes ? Oh, cuckoo, you 
said you’d amuse me, and you do nothing but 
puzzle me.” 

“ It was your own fault. You wouldn’t get 
ready,” said the cuckoo. “ Now, here goes ! 
Flap and wish.” 


58 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Griselda flapped and wished. She felt a sort 
of rustle in the air, that was all — then she 
found herself standing with the cuckoo in front 
of the Chinese cabinet, the door of which stood 
open, while the mandarins on each side, nod- 
ding politely, seemed to invite them to enter. 
Griselda hesitated. 

“Go on,” said the cuckoo patronizingly; 
“ ladies first.” 

Griselda went on. To her surprise, inside 
the cabinet it was quite light, though where 
the light came from that illuminated all the 
queer corners and recesses and streamed out 
to the front, where stood the mandarins, she 
could not discover. 

The “ palace ” was not quite as interesting 
as she had expected. There were lots of little 
rooms in it opening on to balconies command- 
ing, no doubt, a splendid view of the great 
saloon ; there were ever so many little stair- 
cases leading to more little rooms and bal- 
conies, but it all seemed empty and deserted. 

“ I don’t care for it,” said Griselda, stopping 
short at last ; “ it’s all the same, and there’s 
nothing to see. I thought my aunts kept ever 
so many beautiful things in here, and there’s 
nothing.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


59 


“ Come along, then,” said the cuckoo. “ I 
didn’t expect you’d care for the palace, as 
you called it, much. Let us go out the other 
way.” 

He hopped down a sort of little staircase 
near which they were standing, and Griselda 
followed him willingly enough. At the foot 
they found themselves in a vestibule, much 
handsomer than the entrance at the other side ; 
and the cuckoo, crossing it, lifted one of his 
claws and touched a spring in the wall. In- 
stantly a pair of large doors flew open in the 
middle, revealing to Griselda the prettiest and 
most curious sight she had ever seen. 

A flight of wide, shallow steps led down 
from this doorway into a long, long avenue 
bordered by stiffly growing trees, from the 
branches of which hung innumerable lamps of 
every color, making a perfect network of bril- 
liance as far as the eye could reach. 

“ Oh, how lovely !” cried Griselda, clapping 
her hands. “It’ll be like walking along a 
rainbow. Cuckoo, come cpiick.” 

“ Stop,” said the cuckoo ; “ we’ve a good 
way to go. There’s no need to walk. Palan- 
quin !” 

He flapped his wings, and instantly a palan- 


60 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


quin appeared at the foot of the steps. It was 
made of carved ivory, and borne by four Chi- 
nese-looking figures with pigtails and bright- 
colored jackets. A feeling came over Gri- 
selda that she was dreaming, or else that she 
had seen this palanquin before. She hesitated. 
Suddenly she gave a little jump of satisfac- 
tion. 

“ I know !” she exclaimed. “ It’s exactly 
like the one that stands under a glass shade on 
Lady Lavender’s drawing-room mantel-piece. 
I wonder if it is the very one ? Fancy me 
being able to get into it !” 

She looked at the four bearers. Instantly 
they all nodded. 

“ What do they mean ?” asked Griselda, 
turning to the cuckoo. 

“ Get in,” he replied. 

“Yes, I’m just going to get in,” she said; 
“ but what do they mean when they nod at me 
like that ?” 

u They mean, of course, what I tell you — 
‘ Get in,’ ” said the cuckoo. 

“ Why don’t they say so, then ?” persisted 
Griselda, getting in, however, as she spoke. 

“ Griselda, you have a very great ” began 

the cuckoo, but Griselda interrupted him. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


61 


u Cuckoo,” she exclaimed, “ if you say that 
again, I’ll jump out of the palanquin and run 
away home to bed. Of course I’ve a great deal 
to learn — that’s why I like to ask questions 
about everything I see. Now tell me where we 
are going.” 

“ In the first place,” said the cuckoo, “ are 
you comfortable ?” 

“ Very,” said Griselda, settling herself down 
among the cushions. 

It was a change from the cuckoo’s boudoir. 
There were no chairs or seats, only a number 
of very, very soft cushions covered with green 
silk. There were green silk curtains all round, 
too, which you could draw or not as you 
pleased, just by touching a spring. Griselda 
stroked the silk gently. It was not “ fruzzley ” 
silk, if you know what that means ; it did not 
make you feel as if your nails wanted cutting, 
or as if all the rough places on your skin 
were being rubbed up the wrong way; its 
softness was like that of a rose or a pansy 
petal. 

“ What nice silk !” said Griselda. “ I’d like 
a dress of it. I never noticed that the palan- 
quin was lined so nicely,” she continued, “ for 
I suppose it is the one from Lady Lavender’s 


62 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


mantel-piece? There couldn’t be two so ex- 
actly like each other.” 

The cuckoo gave a sort of whistle. 

“ What a goose you are, my dear !” he ex- 
claimed. “Excuse me,” he continued, seeing 
that Griselda looked rather offended ; “ I didn’t 
mean to hurt your feelings, but you won’t let 
me say the other thing, you know. The palan- 
quin from Lady Lavender’s ! I should think 
not. You might as well mistake one of those 
horrible paper roses that Dorcas sticks in her 
vases for one of your aunt’s Gloires de Dijon ! 
The palanquin from Lady Lavender’s — a 
clumsy human imitation not worth looking 
at !” 

“ I didn’t know,” said Griselda humbly. “ Do 
they make such beautiful things in Mandarin 
Land ?” 

“ Of course,” said the cuckoo. 

Griselda sat silent for a minute or two, but 
very soon she recovered her spirits. 

“ Will you please tell me where we are 
going ?” she asked again. 

“ You’ll see directly,” said the cuckoo ; “ not 
that I mind telling you. There’s to be a grand 
reception at one of the palaces to-night. I 
thought you’d like to assist at it. It’ll give 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


63 


you some idea of what a palace is like. By the 
by, can you dance ?” 

“ A little,” replied Griselda. 

“ Ah, well, I dare say you will manage. I’ve 
ordered a court dress for you. It will be all 
ready when we get there.” 

“ Thank you,” said Griselda. 

In a minute or two the palanquin stopped. 
The cuckoo got out, and Griselda followed 
him. 

She found' that they were at the entrance 
to a very much grander palace than the one 
in her aunt’s saloon. The steps leading up 
to the door were very wide and shallow, and 
covered with a gold embroidered carpet, which 
looked as if it would be prickly to her bare feet, 
but which, on the contrary, when she trod upon 
it, felt softer than the softest moss. She could 
see very little besides the carpet ; for at each 
side of the steps stood rows and rows of man- 
darins, all something like, but a great deal 
grander than, the pair outside her aunt’s 
cabinet ; and as the cuckoo hopped and Gri- 
selda walked up the staircase, they all, in turn, 
row by row, began solemnly to nod. It gave 
them the look of a field of very high grass, 
through which any one passing leaves for the 


64 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


moment a trail, till all tlie heads bob up again 
into their places. 

“What do they mean?” whispered Gri- 
selda. 

“ It’s a royal salute,” said the cuckoo. 

“ A salute !” said Griselda. “ I thought that 
meant kissing or guns.” 

“ Hush !” said the cuckoo, for by this time 
they had arrived at the top of the staircase ; 
“ you must be dressed now.” 

Two mandariny -looking young ladies, with 
porcelain faces and three-cornered head-dresses, 
stepped forward and led Griselda into a small 
anteroom, where lay waiting for her the most 
magnificent dress you ever saw. But how do 
you think they dressed her? It was all by 
nodding. They nodded to the blue and silver 
embroidered jacket, and in a moment it had 
fitted itself on to her. They nodded to the 
splendid scarlet satin skirt, made very short 
in front and very long behind, and before Gri- 
selda knew where she was, it was adjusted quite 
correctly. They nodded to the head-dress, and 
the sashes, and the necklaces and bracelets, and 
forthwith they all arranged themselves. Last 
of all, they nodded to the dearest, sweetest 
little pair of high-heeled shoes imaginable — 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


65 


all silver, and blue, and gold, and scarlet, and 
everything mixed up together, only they were 
rather a stumpy shape about the toes, and Gri- 
selda’s bare feet were incased in them, and, 
to her surprise, quite comfortably so. 

“They don’t hurt me a bit,” she said aloud; 
“ yet they didn’t look the least the shape of 
my foot.” 

But her attendants only nodded ; and turning 
round, she saw the cuckoo waiting for her. 
He did not speak either, rather to her annoy- 
ance, but gravely led the way through one 
grand room after another to the grandest of 
all, where the entertainment was evidently just 
about to begin. And everywhere there were 
mandarins, rows and rows, who all set to work 
nodding as fast as Griselda appeared. She 
began to be rather tired of royal salutes, and 
was glad when at last, in profound silence, the 
procession, consisting of the cuckoo and her- 
self, and about half a dozen “ mandarins,” came 
to a halt before a kind of dais, or raised seat, 
at the end of the hall 

Upon this dais stood a chair — a throne of 
some kind, Griselda supposed it to be — and 
upon this was seated the grandest and gravest 
personage she had yet seen. 


66 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


“ Is he the king of the mandarins ?” she 
whispered. But the cuckoo did not reply ; and 
before she had time to repeat the question, the 
very grand and grave person got down from his 
seat, and coming toward her, offered her his 
hand, at the same time nodding — first once, 
then two or three times together, then once 
again. Griselda seemed to know what he 
meant. He was asking her to dance. 

“ Thank you,” she said. “ I can’t dance very 
well, but perhaps you won’t mind.” 

The king, if that was his title, took not the 
slightest notice of her reply, but nodded again 
— once, then two or three times together, then 
once alone, just as before. Griselda did not 
know what to do, when suddenly she felt some- 
thing poking her head. It was the cuckoo — 
he had lifted his claw, and was tapping her 
head to make her nod. So she nodded — once, 
twice together, then once — that appeared to 
be enough. The king nodded once again ; an 
invisible band suddenly struck up the loveliest 
music, and off they set to the places of honor 
reserved for them in the center of the room, 
where all the mandarins were assembling. 

What a dance that was ! It began like a 
minuet and ended something like the hay- 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


67 


makers. Griselda had not the least idea what 
the figures or steps were, but it did not matter. 
If she did not know, her shoes or something 
about her did ; for she got on famously. The 
music was lovely — “ so the mandarins can’t be 
deaf, though they are dumb,” thought Griselda, 
“ which is one good thing about them.” The 
king seemed to enjoy it as much as she did, 
though he never smiled or laughed ; any one 
could have seen he liked it by the way lie 
whirled and twirled himself about. And be- 
tween the figures, when they stopped to rest 
for a little, Griselda got on very well too. 
There was no conversation, or rather, if there 
was, it was all nodding. 

So Griselda nodded too, and though she did 
not know what her nods meant, the king 
seemed to understand and be quite pleased ; 
and when they had nodded enough, the music 
struck up again, and off they set, harder than 
before. 

And every now and then tiny little man- 
dartny boys appeared with trays filled with the 
most delicious fruits and sweetmeats. Griselda 
was not a greedy child, but for once in her life 
she really did feel rather so. I cannot possibly 
describe these delicious things ; just think of 


68 TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 

whatever in all your life was the most “ lovely ” 
thing you ever ate, and you may be sure they 
tasted like that. Only the cuckoo would not 
eat any, which rather distressed Griselda. He 
walked about among the dancers, apparently 
quite at home; and the mandarins did not 
seem at all surprised to see him, though he did 
look rather odd, being nearly, if not quite, as 
big as any of them. Griselda hoped he was 
enjoying himself, considering that she had to 
thank him for all the fun she was having ; but 
she felt a little conscience-stricken when she 
saw that he wouldn’t eat anything. 

u Cuckoo,” she whispered ; she dared not talk 
out loud — it would have seemed so remarkable, 
you see. “ Cuckoo,” she said very, very softly, 
“ I wish you would eat something. You'll be 
so tired and hungry.” 

“ No, thank you,” said the cuckoo ; and you 
can’t think how pleased Griselda was at having 
succeeded in making him speak. “ It isn’t my 
way. I hope you are enjoying yourself ?” 

“ Oh, very much,” said Griselda. “ I ” 

“ Hush !” said the cuckoo ; and looking up, 
Griselda saw a number of mandarins, in a sort 
of procession, coming their way. 

When they got up to the cuckoo they set to 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


69 


work nodding, two or three at a time, more 
energetically than usual. When they stopped 
the cuckoo nodded in return, and then hopped 
off toward the middle of the room. 

“ They’re very fond of good music, you see,” 
he whispered as he passed Griselda ; “ and they 
don’t often get it.” 


70 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


CHAPTEK Y. 

PICTURES. 

e< And she is always beautiful. 

And always is eighteen !” 

When lie got to the middle of the room the 
cuckoo cleared his throat, flapped his wings, and 
began to sing. Griselda was quite astonished. 
She had had no idea that her friend was so 
accomplished. It wasn’t “ cuckooing ” at all ; 
it was real singing, like that of the nightingale 
or the thrush, or like something prettier than 
either. It made Griselda think of woods in 
summer, and of tinkling brooks flowing 
through them, with the pretty brown pebbles 
sparkling up through the water ; and then it 
made her think of something sad — she didn’t 
know what ; perhaps it was of the babes in the 
wood, and the robins covering them up with 
leaves — and then again, in a moment, it sounded 
as if all the merry elves and sprites that ever 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


71 


were heard of had escaped from fairy-land, and 
were rolling over and over with peals of rollick- 
ing laughter. And at last, all of a sudden, the 
song came to an end. 

“ Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo !” rang out three 
times, clear and shrill. The cuckoo flapped his 
wings, made a bow to the mandarins, and 
retired to his old corner. 

There was no buzz of talk, as is usual after 
a performance has come to a close ; but there 
was a great buzz of nodding, and Griselda, wish- 
ing to give the cuckoo as much praise as she 
could, nodded as hard as any of them. The 
cuckoo really looked quite shy at receiving so 
much applause. But in a minute or two the 
music struck up and dancing began again — 
one, two, three, it seemed a sort of mazurka 
this time, which suited the mandarins very 
well, as it gave them a chance of nodding to 
mark the time. 

Griselda had once learned the mazurka ; so 
she got on even better than before — only she 
would have liked it more if her shoes had had 
sharper toes ; they looked so stumpy when she 
tried to point them. All the same, it was very 
good fun ; and she was not too well pleased 
when she suddenly felt the little sharp tap of 


72 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


the cuckoo on her head, and heard him whis- 
per : 

“ Griselda, it’s time to go.” 

“ Oh, dear, why ?” she asked. “ I’m not a bit 
tired. Why need we go yet ?” 

“ Obeying orders,” said the cuckoo ; and after 
that, Griselda dared not say another word. It 
was very nearly as bad as being told she had a 
great deal to learn. 

“ Must I say good-by to the king and all the 
people ?” she inquired ; but before the cuckoo 
had time to answer she gave a little squeal. 
“Oh, cuckoo,” she cried, “you’ve trod on my 
foot.” 

“ I beg your pardon,” said the cuckoo. 

“ I must take olf my shoe ; it does so hurt,” 
she went on. 

“ Take it off, then,” said the cuckoo. 

Griselda stooped to take off her shoe. “ Are 

we going home in the pal ” she began to 

say ; but she never finished the sentence, for 
just as she had got her shoe off she felt the 
cuckoo throw something round her. It was the 
feather mantle. 

And Griselda knew nothing more till she 
opened her eyes the next morning, and saw the 
first early rays of sunshine peeping in through 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


73 


the chinks of the closed shutters of her little 
bedroom. 

She rubbed her eyes and sat up in bed. 
Could it have been a dream ? 

“ What could have made me fall asleep so all 
of a sudden ?” she thought. “ I wasn’t the 
least sleepy at the mandarins’ ball. What fun 
it was ! I believe that cuckoo made me fall 
asleep on purpose to make me fancy it was a 
dream. Was it a dream ?” 

She began to feel confused and doubtful, 
when suddenly she felt something hurting her 
arm, like a little lump in the bed. She felt 
with her hand to see if she could smooth it 
away, and drew out — one of the shoes belong- 
ing to her court dress ! The very one she had 
held in her hand at the moment the cuckoo 
spirited her home again to bed. 

“ Ah, Mr. Cuckoo !” she exclaimed, “ you 
meant to play me a trick, but you haven’t suc- 
ceeded, you see.” 

She jumped out of bed and unfastened one 
of the window-shutters, and then jumped in 
again to admire the little shoe in comfort. It 
was even prettier than she had thought it at the 
ball. She held it up and looked at it. It was 
about the size of the first joint of her little 


74 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


finger. “ To think that I should have been 
dancing with you on last night !” she said to 
the shoe. “ And yet the cuckoo says being 
big or little is all a matter of fancy. I wonder 
what he’ll think of to amuse me next ?” 

She was still holding up the shoe and admir- 
ing it, when Dorcas came with the hot water. 

“ Look, Dorcas,” she said. 

“ Bless me, it’s one of the shoes off the 
Chinese dolls in the saloon,” exclaimed the old 
servant. “ How ever did you get that, missie ? 
Your aunts wouldn’t be pleased.” 

“ It just isn’t one of the Chinese dolls’ shoes ; 
and if you don’t believe me, you can go and 
look for yourself,” said Griselda. “ It’s my very 
own shoe, and it was given me to my own self.” 

Dorcas looked at her curiously, but said no 
more, only as she was going out of the room 
Griselda heard her saying something about “ so 
very like Miss Sybilla.” 

“ I wonder what 4 Miss Sybilla ’ was like ?” 
thought Griselda. “ I have a good mind to ask 
the cuckoo. He seems to have known her very 
well.” 

It was not for some days that Griselda had a 
chance of asking the cuckoo anything. She 
saw and heard nothing of him — nothing, that 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


75 


is to say, but bis regular appearance to tell tbe 
hours as usual. 

‘‘ I suppose,” thought Griselda, “ he thinks 
the mandarins’ ball was fun enough to last me 
a good while. It really was very good-natured 
of him to take me to it, so I mustn’t grumble.” 

A few days after this poor Griselda caught 
cold. It was not a very bad cold, I must con- 
fess, but her aunts made rather a fuss about it. 
They wanted her to stay in bed, but to this 
Griselda so much objected that they did not 
insist upon it. 

“ It would be so dull,” she said piteously. 
“ Please let me stay in the anteroom, for all 
my things are there; and, then, there’s the 
cuckoo.” 

Aunt Grizzel smiled at this, and Griselda got 
her way. But even in the anteroom it was 
rather dull. Miss Grizzel and Miss Tabitha 
were obliged to go out, to drive all the way to 
Merry brow Hall, as Lady Lavender sent a mes- 
senger to say that she had an attack of in- 
fluenza, and wished to see her friends at 
once. 

Miss Tabitha began to cry — she was so 
tender-hearted. 

“ Troubles never come singly,” said Miss 
Grizzel, by way of consolation. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


% 

“ No, indeed, they never come singly,” said 
Miss Tabitha, shaking her head and wiping her 
eyes. 

So off they set; and Griselda in her arm- 
chair by the anteroom fire, with some queer 
little old-fashioned books of her aunts’, which 
she had already read more than a dozen times, 
beside her by way of amusement, felt that there 
was one comfort in her troubles — she had es- 
caped the long, weary drive to her godmother’s. 

But it was very dull. It got duller and 
duller. Griselda curled herself up in her chair, 
and wished she could go to sleep, though feel- 
ing quite sure she couldn’t, for she had stayed 
in bed much later than usual this morning, and 
had been obliged to spend the time in sleeping, 
for want of anything better to do. 

She looked up at the clock. 

“ I don’t know even what to wish for,” she 
said to herself. “ I don’t feel the least in- 
clined to play at anything, and I shouldn’t 
care to go to the mandarins again. Oh, 
cuckoo, cuckoo, I am so dull ! couldn’t you 
think of anything to amuse me ?” 

It was not near “ any o’clock.” But after 
waiting a minute or two, it seemed to Griselda 
that she heard the soft sound of “ coming ’ ? that 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


77 

always preceded the cuckoo’s appearance. She 
was right. In another moment she heard his 
usual greeting, “ Cuckoo, cuckoo !” 

“ Oh, cuckoo !” she exclaimed, “ I am so glad 
you have come at last. I am so dull, and it 
has nothing to do with lessons this time. It’s 
that I’ve got such a bad cold, and my head’s 
aching, and I’m so tired of reading all by 
myself.” 

“ What would you like to do?” said the cuckoo. 
“ You don’t want to go to see the mandarins 
again ?” 

“ Oh, no ; I couldn’t dance.” 

“ Or the mermaids down under the sea ?” 

“ Oh, dear, no,” said Griselda, with a little 
shiver ; “ it would be far too cold. I would 
just like to stay where I am, if some one would 
tell me stories. I’m not even sure that I could 
listen to stories. What could you do to amuse 
me, cuckoo?” 

“ Would you like to see some pictures ?” said 
the cuckoo. “ I could show you pictures with- 
out your taking any trouble.” 

“ Oh, yes, that would be beautiful,” cried 
Griselda. “What pictures will you show 
me ? Oh, I know. I would like to see the 
place were you were born — where that very, 


78 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


very clever man made you and the clock, I 
mean.” 

“ Your great-great-grandfather,” said the 
cuckoo. “Very well. Now, Griselda shut 
your eyes. First of all, I am going to sing.” 

Griselda shut her eyes, and the cuckoo began 
his song. It was something like what he had 
sung at the mandarins’ palace, only even more 
beautiful. It was so soft and dreamy, Griselda 
felt as if she could have sat there forever lis- 
tening to it. 

The first notes were low and murmuring. 
Again they made Griselda think of little rip- 
pling brooks in summer, and now and then 
there came a sort of hum as of insects buzz- 
ing in the warm sunshine near. This humming 
gradually increased, till at last Griselda was 
conscious of nothing more — everything seemed 
to be humming, herself too, till at last she fell 
asleep. 

When she opened her eyes, the anteroom and 
everything in it, except the arm-chair on which 
she was still curled up, had disappeared — 
melted away into a misty cloud all round her, 
which in turn gradually faded, till before her 
she saw a scene quite new and strange. It was 
the first of the cuckoo’s “ pictures.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


79 


An old, quaint room, with a high, carved 
mantel-piece and a bright fire sparkling in the 
grate. It was not a pretty room — it had more 
the look of a workshop of some kind ; but it 
was curious, and interesting. All round, the 
walls were hung with clocks and strange 
mechanical toys. There was a fiddler slowly 
fiddling, a gentleman and lady gravely dancing 
a minuet, a little man drawing up water in a 
bucket out of the glass vase in which goldfish 
were swimming about — -all sorts of queer 
figures; and the clocks were even queerer. 
There was one intended to represent the sun, 
moon, and planets, with one face for the sun 
and another for the moon, and gold and silver 
stars slowly circling round them; there was 
another clock with a tiny trumpeter perched on 
a ledge above the face, who blew a horn for 
the hours. I cannot tell you half the strange 
and wonderful things there were. 

Griselda was so interested in looking at all 
these queer machines that she did not for some- 
time observe the occupant of the room. And 
no wonder ; he was sitting in front of a little 
table, so perfectly still, much more still than 
the unliving figures around him. He was ex- 
amining, with a magnifying glass, some small 


80 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


object he held in his hand, so closely and in- 
tently that Griselda, forgetting she was only 
looking at a “ picture,” almost held her breath 
for fear she should disturb him. He was a 
very old man ; his coat was worn and thread- 
bare in several places, looking as if he spent 
a great part of his life in one position. Yet 
he did not look poor ; and his face, when at 
last he lifted it, was mild and intelligent and 
very earnest. 

While Griselda was watching him closely, 
there came a soft tap at the door, and a little 
girl danced into the room. The dearest little 
girl you ever saw, and so funnily dressed ! 
Her thick brown hair, rather lighter than 
Griselda’s, was tied in two long plaits down her 
back. She had a short red skirt with silver 
braid round the bottom, and a white chemisette 
with beautiful lace at the throat and wrists, 
and over that again a black velvet bodice, also 
trimmed with silver. And she had a great 
many trinkets, necklaces, and bracelets, and 
ear-rings, and a sort of little silver coronet ; no, 
it was not like a coronet, it was a band with a 
square piece of silver fastened so as to stand 
up at each side of her head something like a 
horse’s blinkers, only they were not placed over 
her eyes. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


81 


She made quite a jingle as she came into the 
room, and the old man looked up with a smile 
of pleasure. 

“Well, my darling, and are you all ready for 
your feast ?” he said ; and though the language 
in which he spoke was quite strange to 
Griselda, she understood his meaning perfectly 
well. 

“ Yes, dear grandfather; and isn’t my dress 
lovely ?” said the child. “ I should be so happy 
if only you were coming too, and would get 
yourself a beautiful velvet coat like Mynheer 
van Huyten.” 

The old man shook his head. 

“ I have no time for such things, my dar- 
ling,” he replied ; “ and besides, I am too old. 
I must work — work hard to make money for 
my pet when I am gone, that she may not be 
dependent on the bounty of those English 
sisters.” 

“ But I won’t . care for money when you are 
gone, grandfather,” said the child, her eyes fill- 
ing with tears. “ I would rather just go on 
living in this little house ; and I am sure the 
neighbors would give me something to eat, and 
then I could hear all your clocks ticking and 
think of you. I don’t want you to sell all your 


92 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


wonderful things for money for me, grand- 
father. They would remind me of you, and 
money wouldn’t.” 

“ Not all, Sybilla, not all,” said the old man. 
“ The best of all, the masterpiece of my life, 
shall not be sold. It shall be yours, and you 
will have in your possession a clock that 
crowned heads might seek in vain to pur- 
chase.” 

His dim old eyes brightened, and for a mo- 
ment he sat erect and strong. 

“ Do you mean the cuckoo clock ?” said Syb- 
illa, in a low voice. 

“Yes, my darling, the cuckoo clock, the 
crowning work of my life — a clock that shall 
last long after I, and perhaps thou, my pretty 
child, are crumbling into dust ; a clock that 
shall last to tell my great-grandchildren to 
many generations that the old Dutch mechanic 
was not altogether to be despised.” 

Sybilla sprang into his arms. 

“ You are not to talk like that, little grand- 
father,” she said. “ I shall teach my children 
and my grandchildren to be so proud of you — 
oh, so proud ! — as proud as I am of you, little 
grandfather !” 

“ Gently, my darling,” said the old man as 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


83 


he placed carefully on the table the delicate 
piece of mechanism he held in his hand and 
tenderly embraced the child. “ Kiss me once 
again, my pet, and then thou must go ; thy little 
friends will be waiting.” 


As he said these words the mist slowly 
gathered again before Griselda’s eyes — the 
first of the cuckoo’s pictures faded from her 
sight. 


When she looked again the scene was 
changed ; but this time it was not a strange 
one, though Griselda had gazed at it for some 
moments before she recognized it. It was the 
great saloon, but it looked very different from 
what she had ever seen it. Forty years or so 
make a difference in rooms as well as in 
people ! 

The faded yellow damask hangings were rich 
and brilliant. There were bouquets of lovely 
flowers arranged about the tables ; wax-lights 
were sending out their brightness in every 
direction, and the room was filled with ladies 
and gentlemen in gay attire. 


84 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Among them, after a time, Griselda remarked 
two ladies, no longer very young, but still 
handsome and stately, and something whispered 
to her that they were her two aunts, Miss Griz- 
zel and Miss Tabitha. 

“ Poor aunts !” she said softly to herself ; 
“ how'old they have grown since then.” 

But she did not long look at them ; her 
attention was attracted by a much younger 
lady — a mere girl she seemed, but oh, so 
sweet and pretty ! She was dancing with a 
gentleman whose eyes looked as if they saw no 
one else, and she herself seemed brimming over 
with youth and happiness. Her very steps had 
joy in them. 

"Well, Griselda,” whispered a voice, which 
she knew was the cuckoo’s, “ so you don’t like 
to be told you are like your grandmother, eh ?” 

Griselda turned round sharply to look for 
the speaker, but he was not to be seen. And 
when she turned again, the picture of the great 
saloon had faded away. 


One more picture. 

Griselda looked again. She saw before her 
a country road in full summei-time ; the sun 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


85 


was shining, the birds were singing, the trees 
covered with their bright green leaves — every- 
thing appeared happy and joyful. But at last 
in the distance she saw, slowly approaching, 
a group of a few people, all walking together, 
carrying in their center something long and 
narrow, which, though the black cloth covering 
it was almost hidden by the white flowers with 
which it was thickly strewn, Griselda knew 
to be a coffin. 

It was a funeral procession ; and in the place 
of chief mourner, with pale, set face, walked 
the same young man whom Griselda had last 
seen dancing with the girl Sybilla in the great 
saloon. 

The sad group passed slowly out of sight ; 
but as it disappeared there fell upon the ear 
the sounds of sweet music, lovelier far than 
she had heard before — lovelier than the magic 
cuckoo’s most lovely songs — and somehow, in 
the music it seemed to the child’s fancy there 
were mingled the soft strains of a woman’s 
voice. 

“ It is Sybilla singing,” thought Griselda 
dreamily, and with that she fell asleep again. 


When she woke she was in the arm-chair 


86 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


by the anteroom fire, everything around her 
looking just as usual, the cuckoo clock ticking 
away calmly and regularly. Had it been 
a dream only ? Griselda could not make up 
her mind. 

“ But I don’t see that it matters if it was,” 
she said to herself. “ If it was a dream, the 
cuckoo sent it to me all the same, and I thank 
you very much indeed, cuckoo,” she went on, 
looking up at the clock. “The last picture 
was rather sad, but still it was very nice to 
see it ; and I thank you very much, and I’ll 
never say again that I don’t like to be told I’m 
like my dear pretty grandmother.” 

The cuckoo took no notice of what she said, 
but Griselda did not mind. She was getting 
used to his “ ways.” 

“ I expect he hears me quite well,” she 
thought ; “ and even if he doesn’t, it’s only civil 
to try to thank him.” 

She sat still contentedly enough, thinking 
over what she had seen, and trying to make 
more “ pictures ” for herself in the fire. Then 
there came faintly to her ears the sound of 
carriage wheels, opening and shutting of doors, 
a little bustle of arrival. 

“ My aunts must have come back,” thought 

















































* 





- 

a 

- 








THE CUCKOO CLOCK , 


87 

Griselda; and so it was. In a few minutes 
Miss Grizzel, closely followed by Miss Tabitha, 
appeared at the anteroom door. 

“ Well, my love,” said Miss Grizzel anxiously, 
“ and how are you ? Has the time seemed very 
long while we were away ?” 

“ Oh, no, thank you, Aunt Grizzel,” replied 
Griselda, “ not at all. I’ve been quite happy, 
and my cold’s ever so much better, and my 
headache’s quite gone.” 

“ Come, that is good news,” said Miss 
Grizzel. “Not that I’m exactly surprised,” 
she continued, turning to Miss Tabitha, “ for 
there really is nothing like tansy tea for a fever- 
ish cold.” 

“Nothing,” agreed Miss Tabitha; “there 
really is nothing like it.” 

“Aunt Grizzel,” said Griselda, after a few 
moments’ silence, “ was my grandmother quite 
young when she died ?” 

“ Yes, my love, very young,” replied Miss 
Grizzel, with & change in her voice. 

“ And was her husband very sorry ?” pur- 
sued Griselda. 

“Heart-broken,” said Miss Grizzel. “He 
did not live long after ; and then you know, 
my dear, your father was sent to us to take 


88 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


care of. And now lie has sent you — the third 
generation of young creatures confided to our 
care.” 

“Yes,” said Griselda. “My grandmother 
died in the summer when all the flowers were 
out ; and she was buried in a pretty country 
place, wasn’t she ?” 

“Yes,” said Miss Grizzel, looking rather be- 
wildered. 

“ And when she was a little girl she lived 
with her grandfather, the old Dutch mechanic,” 
continued Griselda, unconsciously using the 
very words she had heard in her vision. “ He 
was a nice old man ; and how clever of him to 
have made the cuckoo clock, and such lots of 
other pretty, wonderful things. I don’t wonder 
little Sybilla loved him ; he was so good to her. 
But, oh, Aunt Grizzel, how pretty she was when 
she was a young lady ! That time that she 
danced with my grandfather in the great saloon. 
And how very nice you and Aunt Tabitha 
looked then, too.” 

Miss Grizzel held her very breath in aston- 
ishment; and no doubt if Miss Tabitha had 
known she was doing so, she would have 
held hers too. But Griselda lay still, gazing 
at the fire, quite unconscious of her aunt’s 
surprise. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK, 


89 


“ Your papa told you all these old stories, I 
suppose, my dear,” said Miss Grizzel at last. 

“ Oh, no,” said Griselda dreamily. “ Papa 
never told me anything like that. Dorcas told 
me a very little, I think ; at least, she made 
me want to know, and I asked the cuckoo, and 
then, you see, he showed me it all. It was so 
pretty.” 

Miss Grizzel glanced at her sister. 

“ Tabitha, my dear,” she said in a low voice, 
“ do you hear ?” 

And Miss Tabitha, who really was not very 
deaf when she set herself to hear, nodded in 
awe struck silence. 

“ Tabitha,” continued Miss Grizzel in the 
same tone, “ it is wonderful ! Ah, yes ; how 
true it is, Tabitha, that ‘ there are more things 
in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in our 
philosophy’ ” (for Miss Grizzel was a well-read 
old lady, you see) ; “ and from the very first, 
Tabitha, we always had a feeling that the child 
was strangely like Sybilla.” 

“ Strangely like Sybilla,” echoed Miss Tabi- 
tha. 

“ May she grow up as good, if not quite as 
beautiful — that we could scarcely expect ; and 
may she be longer spared to those that love 


90 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


her,” added Miss Grizzel, bending over Gri- 
selda, while two or three tears slowly trickled 
down her aged cheeks. “See, Tabitha, the 
dear child is fast asleep. How sweet she 
looks ! I trust by to-morrow morning she will 
be quite herself again, her cold is so much 
better.” 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


01 


CHAPTER VI. 

RUBBED THE WRONG WAY. 

(t For now and then there conies a day 
When everything goes wrong.” 

Griselda’s cold was much better by “to- 
morrow morning.” In fact, I might almost say 
it was quite well. 

But Griselda herself did not feel quite well, 
and saying this reminds me that it is hardly 
sense to speak of a cold being better or well — 
for a cold’s being “ well ” means that it is not 
there at all, out of existence, in short ; and if 
a thing is out of existence, how can we say any- 
thing about it ? Children, I feel quite in a 
hobble — I cannot get my mind straight about 
it — please think it over and give me your 
opinion. In the mean time, I will go on about 
Griselda. 

She felt just a little ill — a sort of feeling 
that sometimes is rather nice, sometimes “ very 


9 & 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


extremely ” much the reverse ! She felt in the 
humor for being petted, and having beef-tea, 
and jelly, and sponge cake with her tea, and for 
a day or two this was all very well. She was 
petted, and she had lots of beef -tea, and jelly, 
and grapes, and sponge cakes, and everything 
nice ; for her aunts, as you must have seen by 
this time, were really very, very kind to her 
in every way in which they understood how to 
be so. 

But after a few days of the continued pet- 
ting, and the beef -tea and the jelly and all the 
rest of it, it occurred to Miss Grizzel, who had 
a good large bump of “ common sense,” that 
it might be possible to overdo this sort of 
thing. 

“ Tabitha,” she said to her sister, when they 
were sitting together in the evening, after Gri- 
selda had gone to bed, “ Tabitha, my dear, I 
think the child is quite well again now. It 
seems to me it would be well to send a note 
to good Mr. Kneebreeches, to say that she will 
be able to resume her studies the day after to- 
morrow.” 

“The day after to-morrow,” repeated Miss 
Tabitha. “The day after to-morrow — to say 
that she will be able to resume her studies 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


93 


the day after to-morrow — oh, yes, certainly. It 
would be very well to send a note to good Mr. 
Kneebreeches, my dear Grizzel.” 

“ I thought you would agree with me,” said 
Miss Grizzel, with a sigh of relief (as if poor 
Miss Tabitha, during all the last half-century, 
had ever ventured to do anything else), getting 
up to fetch her writing materials as she spoke. 
“ It is such a satisfaction to consult together 
about what we do. I was only a little afraid 
of being hard upon the child ; but as you agree 
with me, I have no longer any misgiving.” 

“ Any misgiving ? Oh, dear, no !” said Miss 
Tabitha. “ You have no reason for any mis- 
giving, I am sure, my dear Grizzel.” 

So the note was written and dispatched ; and 
the next morning when, about twelve o’clock, 
Griselda made her appearance in the little 
drawing-room where her aunts usually sat, look- 
ing, it must be confessed, very plump and 
rosy for an invalid, Miss Grizzel broached the 
subject. 

“ I have written to request Mr. Kneebreeches 
to resume his instructions to-morrow,” she said 
quietly. “I think you are quite well again 
now, so Dorcas must wake you at your usual 
hour.” 


P4 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Griselda had been settling herself comfort- 
ably on a corner of the sofa. She had got a 
nice book to read, which her father, hearing of 
her illness, had sent her by post, and she was 
looking forward to the tempting plateful of jelly 
which Dorcas had brought her for luncheon 
every day since she had been ill. Altogether, 
she was feeling very “ lazy-easy ” and contented. 
Her aunt’s announcement felt like a sudden 
downpour of cold water or rush of east wind. 
She sat straight up in her sofa and exclaimed 
in a tone of great annoyance : 

“ Oh, Aunt Grizzel !” 

"Well, my dear?” said Miss Grizzel placidly. 

“ I wish you wouldn’t make me begin les- 
sons again just yet. I know they’ll make my 
head ache again, and Mr. Kneebreeches will be 
so cross. I know he will, and he is so horrid 
when he is cross.” 

“ Hush !” said Miss Grizzel, holding up her 
hand in a way that reminded Griselda of the 
cuckoo’s favorite “ obeying orders.” Just then, 
too, in the distance the anteroom clock struck 
twelve. “ Cuckoo ! Cuckoo ! Cuckoo !” on it 
went. Griselda could have stamped with irri- 
tation ; but somehow, in spite of herself, she felt 
compelled to say nothing. She muttered some 


THE CUCE'OO CLOCK. 


95 


not very pretty words, coiled herself round on 
the sofa, opened her booh, and began to read. 

But it was not as interesting as she had ex- 
pected. She had not read many pages before 
she began to yawn, and she was delighted to 
be interrupted by Dorcas and the jelly. 

But the jelly was not as nice as she had ex- 
pected either. She tasted it and thought it 
was too sweet ; and when she tasted it again, it 
seemed too strong of cinnamon ; and the third 
taste seemed too strong of everything. She 
laid down her spoon and looked about her 
discontentedly. 

“ What is the matter, my dear ?” said Miss 
Grizzel. “ Is the jelly not to your liking ?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Griselda shortly. She 
ate a few spoonfuls, and then took up her book 
again. Miss Grizzel said nothing more, but to 
herself she thought that Mr. Kneebreech.es had 
not been recalled any too soon. 

All day long it was much the same. Nothing 
seemed to come right to Griselda. It was a 
dull, cold day, what is called “ a black frost 
not a bright, clear, pretty cold day, but the sort 
of frost that really makes the world seem dead 
— makes it almost impossible to believe that 
there will ever be warmth and sound and 
“ growing-ness” again. 


96 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Late in the afternoon Griselda crept up to 
the anteroom and sat down by the window. 
Outside it was nearly dark, and inside it was 
not much more cheerful — for the fire was 
nearly out, and no lamps were lighted ; only 
the cuckoo clock went on tick-ticking briskly 
as usual. 

“ I hate winter,” said Griselda, pressing her 
cold little face against the colder window-pane. 
“ I hate winter, and I hate lessons. I would 
give up being a person in a minute if I might be 
a — a — what would I best like to be ? Oh, yes, 
I know — a butterfly. Butterflies never see 
winter, and they certainly never have any 
lessons or any kind of work to do. I hate 
must-ing to do anything.” 

“ Cuckoo,” rang out suddenly above her head. 

It was only four o’clock striking ; and as 
soon as he had told it the cuckoo was back be- 
hind his doors again in an instant, just as usual. 
There was nothing for Griselda to feel offended 
at, but somehow she got quite angry. 

“ I don’t care what you think, cuckoo !” she 
exclaimed defiantly. “ I know you came out 
on purpose just now, but I don’t care. I do 
hate winter, and I do hate lessons, and I do 
think it would be nicer to be a butterfly than 
a little girl.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


97 


In her secret heart I fancy she was half in 
hopes that the cuckoo would come out again 
and talk things over with her. Even if he 
were to scold her, she felt that it would be 
better than sitting there alone with nobody 
to speak to, which was very dull work indeed. 
At the bottom of her conscience there lurked 
the knowledge that what she should be doing 
was to be looking over her last lessons with 
Mr. Kneebreeches, and refreshing her memory 
for the next day ; but, alas ! knowing one’s 
duty is by no means the same thing as doing 
it, and Griselda sat on by the window doing 
nothing but grumble and work herself up into 
a belief that she was one of the most-to-be- 
pitied little girls in all the world. So that by 
the time Dorcas came to call her to tea, I doubt 
if she had a single pleasant thought or feeling 
left in her heart. 

Things grew no better after tea, and before 
long Griselda asked if she might go to bed. 
She was u so tired,” she said ; and she certainly 
looked so, for ill-humor and idleness are excel- 
lent “ tirers,” and will soon take the roses out 
of a child’s cheeks and the brightness out of 
her eyes. She held up her face to be kissed 
by her aunts in a meekly reproachful way, 


98 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


which made the old ladies feel quite uncom 
fortable. 

“ I am by no means sure that I have done 
right in recalling Mr. Kneebreeches so soon, 
Sister Tabitha,” remarked Miss Grizzel un- 
easily when Griselda had left the room. But 
Miss Tabitha was busy counting her stitches, 
and did not give full attention to Miss Grizzel’s 
observation, so she just repeated placidly, “ Oh, 
yes, Sister Grizzel, you may be sure you have 
done right in recalling Mr. Kneebreeches.” 

“ I am glad you think so,” said Miss Grizzel, 
with again a little sigh of relief. “ I was only 
distressed to see the child looking so white and 
tired.” 

Upstairs Griselda was hurry-scurrying into 
bed. There was a lovely fire in her room — 
fancy that ! Was she not a poor neglected 
little creature ? But even this did not please 
her. She was too cross to be pleased with 
anything ; too cross to wash her face and 
hands, or let Dorcas brush her hair out nicely 
as usual ; too cross, alas ! to say her prayers ! 
She just huddled into bed, huddling up her 
mind in an untidy hurry and confusion, just 
as she left her clothes in an untidy heap on 
the floor. She would not look into herself 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


99 


was the truth of it ; she shrank from doing so 
because she knew things had been going on in 
that silly little heart of hers in a most unsatis- 
factory way all day, and she wanted to go to 
sleep and forget all about it. 

She did go to sleep, very quickly too. No 
doubt she really was tired ; tired with crossness 
and doing nothing, and she slept very soundly. 
When she woke up she felt so refreshed and 
rested that she fancied it must be morning. 
It was dark, of course ; but that was to be ex- 
pected in mid-winter, especially as the shutters 
were closed. 

“ I wonder,” thought Griselda, “ I wonder if 
it really is morning. I should like to get up 
early — I went so early to bed, I think I’ll just 
jump out of bed and open a chink of the shut- 
ters. I’ll see at once if it’s nearly morning, by 
the look of the sky.” 

She was up in a minute, feeling her way 
across the room to the window ; and without 
much difficulty she found the hook of the 
shutters, unfastened it, and threw one side 
open. Ah, no, there was no sign of morning 
to be seen. There was moonlight, but nothing 
else, and not so very much of that ; for the 
clouds were hurrying across the “ orbed maid- 


L. of C. 


100 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


en’s ” face at such a rate, one after the other, 
that the light was more like a number of pale 
flashes than the steady, cold shining of most 
frosty moonlight nights. There was going to 
be a change of weather, and the cloud armies 
were collecting together from all quarters; 
that was the real explanation of the hurrying 
and scurrying Griselda saw overhead, but this, 
of course, she did not understand. She only 
saw that it looked wild and stormy ; and she 
shivered a little, partly with cold, partly with 
a half -frightened feeling that she could not have 
explained. 

“ I had better go back to bed,” she said to 
herself ; “ but I am not a bit sleepy.” 

She was just drawing to the shutter again, 
when something caught her eye, and she 
stopped short in surprise. A little bird was 
outside on the window-sill — a tiny bird crouch-, 
ing in close to the cold glass. Griselda’s kind 
heart was touched in an instant. Cold as she 
was, she pushed back the shutter again, and 
drawing a chair forward to the window man- 
aged to unfasten it — it was not a very heavy 
one — and to open it wide enough to slip her 
hand gently along to the bird. It did not start 
or move. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


101 


“ Can it be dead ?” thought Griselda anx- 
iously. 

But no, it was not dead. It let her put her 
hand round it and draw it in ; and to her delight 
she felt that it was soft and warm, and it even 
gave a gentle peck on her thumb. 

“ Poor little bird, how cold you must be !” 
she said kindly. But, to her amazement, no 
sooner was the bird safely inside the room, 
than it managed cleverly to escape from her 
hand. It fluttered quietly up on to her shoul- 
der and sang out in a soft but cheery tone, 
“ Cuckoo, cuckoo — cold, did you say, Griselda ? 
Not so very, thank you.” 

Griselda stepped back from the window. 

“ IPs you, is it ?” she said rather surlily, her 
tone seeming to infer that she had taken a great 
deal of trouble for nothing. 

“ Of course it is, and why shouldn’t it be ? 
You’re not generally so sorry to see me. What’s 
the matter ?” 

“Nothing’s the matter,” replied Griselda, 
feeling a little ashamed of her want of civility ; 

“ only, you see, if I had known it was you ” 

She hesitated. 

“ You wouldn’t have clambered up and hurt 
your poor fingers in opening the window if you 
had known it was me — is that it, eh ?” said the 
cuckoo. 


102 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Somehow, when the cuckoo said “ eh ?” like 
that, Griselda was obliged to tell just what she 
was thinking. 

“ No, I wouldn’t have needed to open the 
window,” she said. “ You can get in or out 
whenever you like ; you’re not like a real bird. 
Of course, you were just tricking me, sitting 
out there and pretending to be a starved 
robin.” 

There was a little indignation in her voice, 
and she gave her head a toss which nearly 
upset the cuckoo. 

“ Dear me ! dear me !” exclaimed the cuckoo. 
“ You have a great deal to complain of, Gri- 
selda. Your time and strength must be very 
valuable for you to regret so much having 
wasted a little of them on me.” 

Griselda felt her face grow red. What did 
he mean ? Did he know how yesterday had 
been spent ? She said nothing, but she drooped 
her head, and one or two tears came slowly 
creeping up to her eyes. 

“ Child !” said the cuckoo, suddenly chang- 
ing his tone, “ you are very foolish. Is a kind 
thought or action ever wasted ? Can your eyes 
see what such good seeds grow into ? They 
have wings, Griselda — kindnesses have wings 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


103 


and roots, remember that — wings that never 
droop and roots that never die. What do you 
think I came and sat outside your window 
for ?” 

“ Cuckoo,” said Griselda humbly, “ I am 
very sorry.” 

“ Very well,” said the cuckoo, “ we’ll leave it 
for the present. I have something else to see 
about. Are you cold, Griselda ?” 

“Very,” she replied. “I would very much 
like to go back to bed, cuckoo, if you please ; 
and there’s plenty of room for you too, if you’d 
like to come in and get warm.” 

“ There are other ways of getting warm be- 
sides going to bed,” said the cuckoo. “A 
nice brisk walk, for instance. I was going 
to ask you to come out into the garden with 
me.” 

Griselda almost screamed. 

“ Out into the garden ! Oh, cuckoo !” she 
exclaimed, “ how can you think of such a thing ? 
Such a freezing cold night. Oh, no, indeed, 
cuckoo, I couldn’t possibly.” 

“Very well, Griselda,” said the cuckoo; “if 
you haven’t yet learned to trust me, there’s no 
more to be said. Good-night.” 

He flapped his wings, cried out “ Cuckoo ” 
once only, flew across the room, and almost be- 


104 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


fore Griselda understood what he was doing, 
had disappeared. 

She hurried after him, stumbling against the 
furniture in her haste and by the uncertain 
light. The door was not open, but the cuckoo 
had got through it — “ by the keyhole, I dare 
say,” thought Griselda ; “ he can c scrooge ’ him- 
self up any way” — for a faint “Cuckoo” was 
to be heard on its other side. In a moment 
Griselda had opened it, and was speeding down 
the long passage in the dark, guided only by 
the voice from time to time heard before her, 
“Cuckoo, cuckoo.” 

She forgot all about the cold, or rather she 
did not feel it, though the floor was of uncar- 
peted old oak, whose hard, polished surface 
would have usually felt like ice to a child’s soft 
bare feet. It was a very long passage, and to- 
night, somehow, it seemed longer than ever. In 
fact, Griselda could have fancied she had been 
running along it for half a mile or more, when 
at last she was brought to a standstill by find- 
ing she could go no further. Where was she ? 
She could not imagine ! It must be a part of 
the house she had never explored in the day- 
time, she decided. In front of her was a little 
stair running downward and ending in a door- 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


105 


way. All this Griselda could see by a bright 
light that streamed in by the key-hole and 
through the chinks round the door — a light so 
brilliant that she blinked her eyes and for a 
moment felt quite dazzled and confused. 

u It came so suddenly,” she said to herself ; 
“ some one must have lighted a lamp in there 
all at once. But it can’t be a lamp ; it’s too 
bright for a lamp. It’s more like the sun ; but 
how ever could the sun be shining in a room 
in the middle of the night ? What shall I do ? 
Shall I open the door and peep in ?” 

“ Cuckoo, cuckoo,” came the answer, soft, but 
clear, from the other side. 

“ Can it be a trick of the cuckoo’s to get me 
out into the garden ?” thought Griselda ; and 
for the first time since she had run out of her 
room a shiver of cold made her teeth chatter 
and her skin feel creepy. 

u Cuckoo, cuckoo,” sounded again, nearer this 
time, it seemed to Griselda. 

“ He’s waiting for me. I will trust him,” 
she said resolutely. “ He has always been good 
and kind, and it’s horrid’ of me to think he’s 
going to trick me.” 

She ran down the little stair, she seized the 
handle of the door. It turned easily ; the door 


106 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


opened — opened, and closed again noiselessly 
behind her, and what do you think she saw ? 

“ Shut your eyes for a minute, Griselda,” 
said the cuckoo’s voice beside her ; “ the light 
will dazzle you at first. Shut them, and 1 
will brush them with a little daisy dew, to 
strengthen them.” 

Griselda did as she was told. She felt the 
tip of the cuckoo’s softest feather pass gently 
two or three times over her eyelids, and a 
delicious scent seemed immediately to float 
before her. 

“ I didn’t know daisies had any scent,” she 
remarked. 

“ Perhaps you didn’t. You forget, Griselda, 
that you have a great ” 

“ Oh, please don’t, cuckoo. Please, please 
don’t, dear cuckoo,” she exclaimed, dancing 
about with her hands clasped in entreaty, but 
her eyes still firmly closed. “ Don’t say that, 
and I’ll promise to believe whatever you tell 
me. And how soon may I open my eyes, 
please, cuckoo ?” 

“ Turn round slowly three times. That will 
give the dew time to take effect,” said the 
cuckoo. “ Here goes — one — two — three. 
There, now.” 

Griselda opened her eyes. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


107 


CHAPTER VII. 

BUTTERFLY-LAND. 

“ Fd be a butterfly." 

Griselda opened her eyes. 

What did she see ? 

The loveliest, loveliest garden that ever or 
never a little girl’s eyes saw. As for describing 
it, I cannot. I must leave a good deal to your 
fancy. It was just a delicious garden. There 
was a charming mixture of all that is needed to 
make a garden perfect — grass, velvety lawn 
rather ; water, for a little brook ran tinkling in 
and out, playing bo-peep among the bushes ; 
trees, of course, and flowers, of course, flowers 
of every shade and shape. But all these beau- 
tiful things Griselda did not at first give as 
much attention to as they deserved ; her eyes 
were so occupied with a quite unusual sight 
that met them. 

This was butterflies ! Not that butteriflies 


108 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


are so very uncommon ; but butterflies, as 
Griselda saw them, I am quite sure, children, 
none of you ever saw, or are likely to see. 
There were such enormous numbers of them, 
and the variety of their colors and sizes was so 
great. They were fluttering about everywhere ; 
the garden seemed actually alive with them. 

Griselda stood for a moment in silent delight, 
feasting her eyes on the lovely things before 
her, enjoying the delicious sunshine which 
kissed her poor little bare feet, and seemed to 
wrap her all up in its warm embrace. Then 
she turned to her little friend. 

“ Cuckoo,” she said, “ I thank you so much. 
This is fairy -land at last !” 

The cuckoo smiled, I was going to say ; but 
that would be a figure of speech only, would it 
not ? He shook his head gently. 

“ No, Griselda,” he said kindly ; “ this is 
only butterfly-land.” 

“ Butterfly-land !” repeated Griselda, with a 
little disappointment in her tone. 

“Well,” said the cuckoo, “it’s where you 
were wishing to be yesterday, isn’t it ?” 

Griselda did not particularly like these allu- 
sions to “ yesterday.” She thought it would be 
as well to change the subject. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


109 


u It’s a beautiful place, whatever it is,” she 
said ; “ and I’m sure, cuckoo, I’m very much 
obliged to you for bringing me here. Now 
may I run about and look at everything ? How 
delicious it is to feel the warm sunshine again ! 
I didn’t know how cold I was. Look, cuckoo, 
my toes and fingers are quite blue ; they’re only 
just beginning to come right again. I suppose 
the sun always shines here. How nice it must 
be to be a butterfly ; don’t you think so, 
cuckoo ? Nothing to do but fly about.” 

She stopped at last, quite out of breath. 

“ Griselda,” said the cuckoo, “ if you want 
me to answer your questions, you must ask 
them one at a time. You may run about and 
look at everything if you like, but you had 
better not be in such a hurry. You will make 
a great many mistakes if you are — you have 
made some already.” 

“ How ?” said Griselda. 

“ Have the butterflies nothing to do but fly 
about? Watch them.” 

Griselda watched. 

“ They do seem to be doing something,” she 
said at last, “ but I can’t think what. They 
seem to be nibbling at the flowers, and then fly- 
ing away something like bees gathering honey. 
Butterflies don’t gather honey, cuckoo ?” 


110 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


“ No,” said the cuckoo. “ They are filling 
their paint-boxes.” 

“ What do you mean ?” said Griselda. 

“ Come and see,” said the cuckoo. 

He flew quietly along in front of her, leading 
the way through the prettiest paths in all the 
pretty graden. The paths were arranged in 
different colors, as it were ; that is to say, the 
flowers growing along their sides were not all 
“ mixty-maxty,” but one shade after another in 
regular order — from the palest blush pink to 
the very deepest damask crimson ; then, again, 
from the soft greenish-blue of the small grass 
forget-me-not to the rich warm tinge of the 
brilliant cornflower. Every tint was there; 
shades to which, though not exactly strange to 
her, Griselda could yet have given no name, for 
the daisy dew, you see, had sharpened her eyes 
to observe delicate variations of color as she 
had never done before. 

“ How beautifully the flowers are planned,” 
she said to the cuckoo. “ Is it just to look 
pretty, or why ?” 

“ It saves time,” replied the cuckoo. “ The 
fetch-and-carry butterflies know exactly where 
to go to for the tint the world-flower painters 
want” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Ill 


“ Who are the fetch-and-carry butterflies, and 
who are the world-flower painters?” asked 
Griselda. 

“ W ait a bit and you’ll see, and use your 
eyes,” answered the cuckoo. “ It’ll do your 
tongue no harm to have a rest now and then.” 

Griselda thought it as w r ell to take his advice, 
though not particularly relishing the manner in 
which it was given. She did use her eyes ; 
and as she and the cuckoo made their way 
along the flower alleys, she saw that the but- 
terflies were never idle. They came regularly, 
in little parties of twos and threes, and nibbled 
away, as she called it, at flowers of the same 
color but different shades, till they had got 
what they wanted. Then off flew butterfly 
No. 1 with perhaps the palest tint of maize, 
or yellow, or lavender, whichever he was in 
quest of, followed by No. 2 with the next 
deeper shade of the same, and No. 3 bringing 
up the rear. 

Griselda gave a little sigh. 

“ What’s the matter ?” said the cuckoo. 

“ They work very hard,” she replied in a 
melancholy tone. 

“ It’s a busy time of year,” observed the 
cuckoo dryly. 


112 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


After awhile they came to what seemed to 
be a sort of center to the garden. It was a 
huge glass house, with numberless doors, in 
and out of which butterflies were incessantly 
flying — reminding Griselda again of bees and 
a beehive. But she made no remark till the 
cuckoo spoke again. 

“ Come in,” he said. 

Griselda had to stoop a good deal, but she 
did manage to get in without knocking her 
head or doing any damage. Inside was just a 
mass of butterflies. A confused mass it seemed 
at first, but after awhile she saw that it was 
the very reverse of confused. The butterflies 
were all settled in rows on long, narrow white 
tables, and before each was a tiny object about 
the size of a flattened-out pin’s head, which he 
was most carefully painting with one of his 
tentacles, which, from time to time, he mois- 
tened by rubbing it on the head of a butterfly 
waiting patiently behind him. Behind this 
butterfly again stood another, who after awhile 
took his place, while the first attendant flew" 
away. 

“ To fill his paint-box again,” remarked 
the cuckoo, who seemed to read Griselda’s 
thoughts. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


113 


“ But what are they painting, cuckoo ?” she 
inquired eagerly. 

“ Ail the flowers in the world,” replied the 
cuckoo. “ Autumn, winter, and spring, they’re 
hard at work. It’s only just for the three 
months of summer that the butterflies have 
any holiday, and then a few stray ones now 
and then wander up to the world, and people 
talk about ‘ idle butterflies !’ And even then 
it isn’t true that they are idle. They go up 
to take a look at the flowers, to see how their 
work has turned out, and many a damaged 
petal they repair, or touch up a faded tint, 
though no one ever knows it.” 

“ I know it now,” said Griselda. “ I will 
never talk about idle butterflies again — never. 
But, cuckoo, do they paint all the flowers here 
too % What a fearful lot they must have to 
do l” 

“ No,” said the cuckoo ; “ the flowers down 
here are fairy flowers. They never fade or 
die ; they are always just as you see them. 
But the colors of your flowers are all taken 
from them, as you have seen. Of course they 
don’t look the same up there,” he went on, 
with a slight contemptuous shrug of his 
cuckoo shoulder’s ; “ the coarse air and the 


114 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


ugly tilings about must take the bloom off. 
The wild flowers do the best, to my thinking ; 
people don’t meddle with them in their stupid, 
clumsy way.” 

“ But how do they get the flowers sent up to 
the world, cuckoo ?” asked Griselda. 

“ They’re packed up, of course, and taken up 
at night when all of you are asleep,” said the 
cuckoo. “ They’re painted on elastic stuff, you 
see, which fits itself as the plant grows. Why, 
if your eyes were as they are usually, Griselda, 
you couldn’t even see the petals the butterflies 
are painting now.” 

“ And the packing up,” said Griselda ; “ do 
the butterflies do that too 

“No,” said the cuckoo, “ the fairies look after 
that.” 

“ How wonderful !” exclaimed Griselda. But 
before the cuckoo had time to say more a sud- 
den tumult filled the air. It was butterfly 
dinner-time ! 

“ Are you hungry, Griselda ?” said the 
cuckoo. 

“ Not so very,” replied Griselda. 

“ It’s just as well perhaps that you’re not,” 
he remarked, “ for I don’t know that you’d be 
much the better for dinner here.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


115 


“Why not?” inquired Griselda curiously. 
“ What do they have for dinner ? Honey ? I 
like that very well, spread on the top of bread- 
and-butter, of course — I don’t think I should 
care to eat it alone.” 

“ You won’t get any honey,” the cuckoo was 
beginning ; but he was interrupted. Two hand- 
some butterflies flew into the great glass hall, 
and making straight for the cuckoo, alighted on 
his shoulders. They fluttered about him for a 
minute or two, evidently rather excited about 
something, then flew away again, as suddenly 
as they had appeared. 

“ Those were royal messengers,” said the 
cuckoo, turning to Griselda. “ They have come 
with a message from the king and queen to 
invite us to a banquet which is to be held in 
honor of your visit.” 

“ What fun !” cried Griselda. “ Do let’s go 
at once, cuckoo. But, oh, dear me,” she went 
on, with a melancholy change of tone, “ I was 
forgetting, cuckoo. I can’t go to the banquet. 
1 have nothing on but my night-gown. I never 
thought of it before, for I’m not a bit cold.” 

“ Never mind,” said the cuckoo, “ I’ll soon 
have that put to rights.” 

He flew off, and was back almost imme- 


116 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


diately, followed by a whole flock of butterflies. 
They were of a smaller kind than Griselda had 
hitherto seen, and they were of two colors 
only ; half were blue, half yellow. They flew 
up to Griselda, who felt for a moment as if she 
were really going to be suffocated by them, but 
only for a moment. There seemed a great buzz 
and flutter about her, and then the butterflies 
set to work to dress her. And how do you 
think they dressed her ? With themselves ! 
They arranged themselves all over her in the 
cleverest way. One set of blue ones clustered 
round the hem of her little white night-gown, 
making a thick “ ruche,” as it were ; and then 
there came two or three thinner rows of yellow, 
and then blue again. Round her waist they 
made the loveliest belt of mingled blue and 
yellow, and all over the upper part of her night- 
gown, in and out among the pretty white frills 
which Dorcas herself “ goffered ” so nicely, 
they made themselves into fantastic trimmings 
of every shape and kind ; bows, rosettes — I 
cannot tell you what they did not imitate. 

Perhaps the prettiest ornament of all was 
the coronet or wreath they made of themselves 
for her head, dotting over her curly brown 
hair too with butterfly spangles, which quivered 



She Looked Like a Fairy Queen.— Page 117. 













































































































































































































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THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


117 


like dew-drops as she moved about. No one 
would have known Griselda ; she looked like 
a fairy queen, or princess at least ; for even 
her little white feet had what looked like butter- 
fly shoes upon them, though these, you will 
understand, were only a sort of make-believe, 
as, of course, the shoes were soleless. 

“Now,” said the cuckoo, when at last all 
was quiet again, and every blue and every 
yellow butterfly seemed settled in his place, 
“ noAV, Griselda, come and look at yourself.” 

He led the way to a marble basin, into which 
fell the waters of one of the tinkling brooks 
that were to be found everywhere about the 
garden, and bade Griselda look into the water- 
mirror. It danced about rather ; but still she 
was quite able to see herself. She peered in 
with great satisfaction, turning herself round 
so as to see first over one shoulder, then over 
the other. 

“ It is lovely,” she said at last. “ But, 
cuckoo, I’m just thinking — -'how shall I possibly 
be able to sit down without crushing ever so 
many ?” 

“ Bless you, you needn’t trouble about that,” 
said the cuckoo ; the butterflies are quite able 
to take care of themselves. You don’t suppose 


118 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


you are the first little girl they have ever made 
a dress for ?” 

Griselda said no more, but followed the 
cuckoo, walking rather “ gingerly,” notwith- 
standing his assurances that the butterflies 
could take care of themselves. At last the 
cuckoo stopped in front of a sort of banked- 
up terrace, in the center of which grew a 
strange-looking plant with large, smooth, spread- 
ing-out leaves, and on the two topmost leaves, 
their splendid wings glittering in the sunshine, 
sat two magnificent butterflies. They were 
many times larger than any Griselda had yet 
seen ; in fact, the cuckoo himself looked rather 
small beside them, and they were so beautiful 
that Griselda felt quite overawed. You could 
not have said what color they were, for at the 
faintest movement they seemed to change into 
new colors, each more exquisite than the last. 
Perhaps I could best give you an idea of them 
by saying that they were like* living rainbows. 

“ Are those the king and queen ?” asked 
Griselda in a whisper. 

“Yes,” said the cuckoo. “Do you admire 
them ?” 

“ I should rather think I did,” said Griselda. 
“ But, cuckoo, do they never do anything but 
lie there in the sunshine ?” 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


119 


“ Oh, you silly girl,” exclaimed the cuckoo, 
“ always jumping at conclusions. No, indeed, 
that is not how they manage things in butterfly- 
land. The king and queen have worked harder 
than any other butterflies. They are chosen 
every now and then, out of all the others, as 
being the most industrious and the cleverest 
of all the world-flower painters ; and then they 
are allowed to rest, and are fed on the finest 
essences, so that they grow as splendid as you 
see. But even now they are not idle; they 
superintend all the work that is done, and 
choose all the new colors.” 

u Dear me !” said Griselda, under her breath, 
“ how clever they must be.” 

Just then the butterfly king and queen 
stretched out their magnificent wings, and rose 
upward, soaring proudly into the air. 

“ Are they going away ?” said Griselda in a 
disappointed tone. 

“ Oh, no,” said the cuckoo ; “ they are wel- 
coming you. Hold out your hands.” 

Griselda held out her hands, and stood gazing 
up into the sky. In a minute or two the royal 
butterflies appeared again, slowly, majestically 
circling downward, till at length they alighted 
on Griselda’s little hands, the king on the right, 


120 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


tlie queen on the left, almost x covering her 
fingers with their great dazzling wings. 

“You do look nice now,” said the cuckoo, 
hopping back a few steps and looking up at 
Griselda approvingly ; “ but it’s time for the 
feast to begin, as it won’t do for us to be 
late.” 

The king and queen appeared to understand. 
They floated away from Griselda’s hands, and 
settled 'themselves, this time, at one end of a 
beautiful little grass plot or lawn, just below 
the terrace where grew the large-leaved plant. 
This was evidently their dining-room ; for no 
sooner were they in their place than butterflies 
of every kind and color came pouring in, in 
masses, from all directions. Butterflies small 
and butterflies large ; butterflies light and but- 
terflies dark ; butterflies blue, pink, crimson, 
green, gold color — every color, and far, far more 
colors than you could possibly imagine. 

They all settled down, round the sides of the 
grassy dining-table, and in another minute a 
number of small white butterflies appeared, 
carrying among them flower petals carefully 
rolled up, each containing a drop of liquid. 
One of these w T as presented to the king, and 
then one to the queen, who each sniffed at 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


121 


their petal for an instant, and then passed it 
on to the butterfly next them, whereupon fresh 
petals were handed to them, which they again 
passed on. 

“ What are they doing, cuckoo ?” said Gri- 
selda ; “ that’s not eating.” 

“It’s their kind of eating,” he replied. 
“ They don’t require any other kind of food 
than a sniff of perfume ; and as there are per- 
fumes extracted from every flower in butterfly- 
land, and there are far more flowers than you 
could count between now and Christmas, you 
must allow there is plenty of variety of dishes.” 

“ Um-m,” said Griselda; “ I suppose there 
is. But all the same, cuckoo, it’s a very good 
thing I’m not hungry, isn’t it ? May I pour the 
scent on my pocket handkerchief when it comes 
round to me ? I have my handkerchief here, 
you see. Is’nt it nice that I brought it? It 
was under my pillow, and I wrapped it round 
my hand to open the shutter, for the hook 
scratched it once.” 

“ You may pour one drop on your handker- 
chief,” said the cuckoo, “ but not more. I 
shouldn’t like the butterflies to think you 
greedy.” 

But Griselda grew very tired of the scent 


m 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


feast long before all the petals had been passed 
round. The perfumes were very nice, certainly, 
but there were such quantities of them — 
double quantities in honor of the guest, of 
course ! Griselda screwed up her handkerchief 
into a tight little ball, so that the one drop of 
scent should not escape from it, and then she 
kept sniffing at it impatiently, till at last the 
cuckoo asked her what was the matter. 

“ I am so tired of the feast,” she said. “ Do 
let us do something else, cuckoo.” 

“ It is getting rather late,” said the cuckoo. 
“ But see, Griselda, they are going to have an 
air-dance now.” 

“ What’s that ?” said Griselda. 

“ Look, and you’ll see,” he replied. 

Flocks and flocks of butterflies were rising a 
short way into the air, and there arranging 
themselves in bands according to their colors. 

“ Come up on to the bank,” said the cuckoo to 
Griselda ; “ you’ll see them better.” 

Griselda climbed up the bank, and as from 
there she could look down on the butterfly 
show, she saw it beautifully. The long strings 
of butterflies twisted in and out of each other 
in the most wonderful way, like ribbons of 
every hue plaiting themselves and then in an 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


123 


instant unplaiting themselves again. Then the 
king and queen placed themselves in the center, 
and round and round in moving circles twisted 
and untwisted the brilliant bands of butter- 
flies. 

“It’s like a kaleidoscope,” said Griselda; 
“ and now it’s like those twisty-twirly dissolving 
views that papa took me to see once. It’s 
just like them. Oh, how pretty ! Cuckoo, 
are they doing it all on purpose to please me ?” 

“ A good deal,” said the cuckoo. “ Stand 
up and clap your hands loud three times, to 
show them you’re pleased.” 

Griselda obeyed. “ Clap ” number one — all 
the butterflies rose up into the air in a cloud ; 
clap number two — they all fluttered and twirled 
and buzzed about, as if in the greatest excite- 
ment ; clap number three — they all turned in 
Griselda’s direction with a rush. 

“ They’re going to kiss you, Griselda,” cried 
the cuckoo. 

Griselda felt her breath going. Up above 
her was the vast feathery cloud of butterflies, 
fluttering, rushing down upon her. 

“ Cuckoo, cuckoo,” she screamed, “ they’ll 
suffocate me. Oh, cuckoo !” 

“ Shut your eyes, and clap your hands loud, 
very loud,” called out the cuckoo. 


124 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


And just as Griselda clapped her hands, 
holding her precious handkerchief between her 
teeth, she heard him give his usual cry, 
“ Cuckoo, cuckoo.” 

Clap — where w T ere they all ? 

Griselda opened her eyes — garden, butter- 
flies, cuckoo, all had disappeared. She was in 
bed, and Dorcas was knocking at the door with 
the hot water. 

“Miss Grizzel said I was to wake you at 
your usual time this morning, missie,” she 
said. “ I hope you don’t feel too tired to get 
up.” 

“ Tired ! I should think not,” replied Gri- 
selda. “ I was awake this morning ages before 
you, I can tell you, my dear Dorcas. Come 
here for a minute, Dorcas, please,” she went on. 
“ There now, sniff my' handkerchief. What do 
you think of that ?” 

“ It’s beautiful,” said Dorcas. “ It’s out of 
the big blue chinay bottle on your auntie’s 
table, isn’t it, missie ?” 

“ Stuff and nonsense,” replied Griselda ; “ it’s 
scent of my own, Dorcas. Aunt Grizzel never 
had any like it in her life. There now, please 
give me my slippers, I want to get up and look 
over my lessons for Mr. Kneebreeches before 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


125 


lie comes. Dear me,” slie added to herself as 
she was putting on her slippers, “ how pretty 
my feet did look v/ith the blue butterfly shoes ! 
It was very good of the cuckoo to take me 
there ; but I don’t think I shall ever wish to be 
a butterfly again, now I know how hard they 
work ! But I’d like to do my lessons well to- 
day. I fancy it’ll please the dear old cuckoo.” 


m 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

MASTER PHIL. 

“ Who comes from the world of flowers? 

Daisy and crocus, and sea-blue bell. 

And violet shrinking in dewy cell — 

Sly cells that know the secrets of night. 

When earth is bathed in fairy light — 

Scarlet, and blue, and golden flowers.” 

And so Mr. Kneebreeches had no reason to 
complain of his pupil that day. 

And Miss Grizzel congratulated herself more 
heartily than ever on her wise management of 
children. 

And Miss Tabitha repeated that Sister Griz- 
zel might indeed congratulate herself. 

And Griselda became gradually more and 
more convinced that the only way as yet dis- 
covered of getting through hard tasks is to 
set to work and do them ; also that grumbling, 
as things are at present arranged in this world, 
does not always, nor I may say often, do good ; 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


m 


furthermore, than an ill-tempered child is not, 
on the whole, likely to be as much loved as a 
good-tempered one; lastly, that if you wait 
long enough, winter will go and spring will 
come. 

For this was the case this year, after all ! 
Spring had only been sleepy and lazy, and in 
such a case what could poor old winter do but 
fill the vacant post till she came ? Why he 
should be so scolded and reviled for faithfully 
doing his best, as he often is, I really don’t 
know. Not that all the ill words he gets have 
much effect on him — he comes again just as 
usual, whatever we say of or to him. I suppose 
his feelings have long ago been frozen up, or 
surely before this he would have taken offense 
— well for us that he has not done so ! 

But when the spring did come at last this 
year, it would be impossible for me to tell you 
how Griselda enjoyed it. It was like new life 
to her as well as to the plants, and flowers, 
and birds, and insects. Hitherto, you see, she 
had been able to see very little of the outside 
of her aunt’s house ; and charming as the inside 
was, the outside, I must say, was still “ charm- 
inger.” There seemed no end to the little up- 
and-down paths and alleys leading to rustic 


128 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


seats and quaint arbors ; no limits to the little 
pine wood, down into which led the dearest 
little zig-zaggy path you ever saw, all bordered 
with snow-drops and primroses and violets, and 
later on with periwinkles, and w r ood anemones, 
and those bright, starry white flowers whose 
name no two people agree about. 

This wood path was the place, I think, wdiicli 
Griselda loved best. The bowding green was 
certainly very delightful, and so was the terrace 
where the famous roses grew; but lovely as 
the roses were (I am speaking just now, of 
course, of later on in the summer, when they 
were all in bloom), Griselda could not enjoy 
them as much as the wild flowers, for she was 
forbidden to gather or touch them, except with 
her funny round nose ! 

“ You may scent them, my dear,” said Miss 
Grizzel, who was of opinion that smell was not 
a pretty word ; “ but I cannot allow anything 
more.” 

And Griselda did “ scent ” them, I assure 
you. She burrowed her whole rosy face in 
the big ones; but gently, for she did not want 
to spoil them, both for her aunt’s sake and 
because, too, she had a greater regard for 
flow r ers now that she knew the secret of how 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


129 


they were painted, and what a great deal of 
trouble the butterflies take about them. 

But after awhile one grows tired of “ scent- 
ing ” roses ; and even the trying to walk straight 
across the bowling green with her eyes shut, 
from the arbor at one side to the arbor exactly 
like it at the other, grew stupid, though no 
doubt it would have been capital fun with a 
companion to applaud or criticise. 

So the wood path became Griselda’s favorite 
haunt. As the summer grew on, she began to 
long more than ever for a companion — not so 
much for play, as for some one to play with. 
She had lessons, of course, just as many as 
in the winter ; but with the long days there 
seemed to come a quite unaccountable increase 
of playtime, and Griselda sometimes found it 
hang heavy on her hands. She had not seen or 
heard anything of the cuckoo either, save, of 
course, in his “ official capacity ” of time-teller, 
for a very long time. 

“ I suppose,” she thought, “ he thinks I don’t 
need amusing now that the fine days are come, 
and I can play in the garden ; and certainly, if 
I had any one to play with, the garden would 
be perfectly lovely.” 

But failing companions, she did the best she 


130 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


could for herself, and this was why she loved 
the path down into the wood so much. There 
was a sort of mystery about it ; it might have 
been the path leading to the cottage of Red 
Riding Hood’s grandmother or a path leading to 
fairyland itself. There were all kinds of queer, 
nice, funny noises to be heard there — in one 
part of it especially, where Griselda made her- 
self a seat of some moss-grown stones, and 
where she came so often that she got to know 
all the little flowers growing close round about, 
and even the particular birds whose nests were 
hard by. 

She used to sit there and fancy — fancy that 
she heard the wood-elves chattering under their 
breath, or the little underground gnomes and 
kobolds hammering at their fairy forges. And 
the tinkling of the brook in the distance 
sounded like the enchanted bells round the 
necks of the fairy kine, who are sent out to 
pasture sometimes on the upper world hillsides. 
For Griselda’s head was crammed full, perfectly 
full, of fairy lore ; and the mandarins’ country 
and butterfly-land were quite as real to her as 
the every-day world about her. 

But all this time she was not forgotten by 
the cuckoo, as you will see. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


131 


One day she was sitting in her favorite nest, 
feeling, notwithstanding the sunshine, and the 
flowers, and the soft, sweet air, and the pleasant 
sounds all about, rather dull and lonely. For 
though it was only May, it was really quite a 
hot day, and Griselda had been all the morning 
at her lessons, and had tried very hard and 
done them very well, and now she felt as if 
she deserved some reward. Suddenly in the 
distance she heard a very well-known sound, 
“Cuckoo, cuckoo.” 

“ Can that be the cuckoo ?” she said to her- 
self; and in a moment she felt sure that it 
must be. For, for some reason that I do not 
know enough about the habits of real “ flesh- 
and-blood ” cuckoos to explain, that bird was 
not known in the neighborhood where Gri- 
selda’s aunts lived. Some twenty miles or so 
further south it was heard regularly ; but all 
this spring Griselda had never caught the sound 
of its familiar note, and she now remembered 
hearing it never came to these parts. 

So, “ It must be my cuckoo,” she said to her- 
self. “ He must be coming out to speak to me. 
How funny ! I have never seen him by day- 
light.” 

She listened. Yes, again there it was, 


132 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Cuckoo, cuckoo,” as plain as possible and 
nearer tkan before. 

“ Cuckoo,” cried Griselda, “ do come and talk 
to me. It’s such a long time since I have seen 
you, and I have nobody to play with.” 

But there was no answer. Griselda held her 
breath to listen ; but there was nothing to be 
heard. 

“ Unkind cuckoo !” she exclaimed. “He is 
tricking me, I do believe ; and to-day, too, just 
when I was so dull and lonely !” 

The tears came into her eyes, and she was 
beginning to think herself very badly used, 
when suddenly a rustling in the bushes beside 
her made her turn round, more than half-ex- 
pecting to see the cuckoo himself. But it was 
not he. The rustling went on for a minute or 
two without anything making its appearance, 
for the bushes were pretty thick just there, and 
any one scrambling up from the pine wood be- 
low would have had rather hard work to get 
through, and indeed for a very big person such 
a feat would have been altogether impossible. 

It was not a very big person, however, who 
was causing all the rustling and crunching of 
branches and general commotion which now 
absorbed Griselda’s attention. She sat watch- 










THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


133 


ing for another minute in perfect stillness, 
afraid of startling by the slightest movement 
the squirrel or rabbit or creature of some kind 
which she expected to see. At last — was that 
a squirrel or rabbit, that rosy, round face 
with shaggy, fair hair falling over the eager 
blue eyes, and a general look of breathlessness 
and over-heatedness and determination ? 

A squirrel or a rabbit ! No, indeed, but a 
very sturdy, very merry, very ragged little boy. 

“ Where are that cuckoo ? Does you know ?” 
were .the first words he uttered as soon as he 
had fairly shaken himself, though not by any 
means all his clothes, free of the bushes (for 
ever so many pieces of jacket and knicker- 
bockers, not to speak of one boot and half his 
hat, had been left behind on the way), and 
found breath to say something. 

Griselda stared at him for a moment with- 
out speaking. She was so astonished. It was 
months since she had spoken to a child, almost 
since she had seen one, and about children 
younger than herself she knew very little at 
any time, being baby of the family at home, you 
see, and having only big brothers older than 
herself for playfellows. 

“ Who are you 2” she said at last. “ What’s 
your name and what do you want 2” 


134 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“My name’s Master Phil, and I want tliat 
cuckoo,” answered the little boy. “ He earned 
up this way. I’m sure he did, for he called 
me all the way.” 

“He’s not here,” said Griselda, shaking 
her head ; “and this is my aunts’ garden. No 
one is allowed to come here but friends of 
theirs. You had better go home ; and you 
have torn your clothes so.” 

“ This aren’t a garden,” replied the little 
fellow undauntedly, looking round him ; “ this 
are a wood. There are blue-bells and prim- 
roses here, and that shows it aren’t a garden — - 
not anybody’s garden, I mean, with walls round, 
for nobody to come in.” 

“ But it is,” said Griselda, getting rather 
vexed. “ If it isn’t a garden, it’s grounds, pri- 
vate grounds, and nobody should come without 
leave. This path leads down to the wood, and 
there’s a door in the wall at the bottom to 
get into the lane. You may go down that 
way, little boy. No one comes scrambling up 
the way you did.” 

“ But I want to find the cuckoo,” said the 
little boy. “ I do so want to find the cuckoo.” 

His voice sounded .almost as if he were 
going to cry, and his pretty, hot, flushed face 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


135 


puckered up. Griselda’s heart smote her ; she 
looked at him more carefully. He was such 
a very little boy, after all ; she did not like 
to be cross to him. 

“ How old are you ?” she asked. 

“ Five and a bit. I had a birthday after 
the summer ; and if I’m good, nurse says per- 
haps I’ll have one after next summer too. Do 
you ever have birthdays ?” he went on, peering 
up at Griselda. “ Nurse says she used to when 
she was young, but she never has any now.” 

“ Have you a nurse ?” asked Griselda, rather 
surprised ; for, to tell the truth, from “ Master 
Phil’s ” appearance, she had not felt at all sure 
what sort of little boy he was, or rather what 
sort of people he belonged to. 

“ Of course I have a nurse and a mother 
too,” said the little boy, opening wide his eyes 
in surprise at the question. “ Haven’t you ? 
Perhaps you’re too big, though. People leave 
off having nurses and mothers when they’re 
big, don’t they ? Just like birthdays. But I 
won’t. I won’t never leave off having a mother, 
anyway. I don’t care so much about nurse 
and birthdays, not kite so much. Did you 
care when you had to leave off, when you got- 
too big 2” 


130 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ I hadn’t to leave off because I got big,” 
said Griselda sadly. “ I left off when I was 
much littler than you,” she went on, uncon- 
sciously speaking as Phil would best understand 
her. “ My mother died.” 

“ I’m wery sorry,” said Phil ; and the way 
he said it quite overcame Griselda’s unfriend- 
liness. “ But perhaps you’ve a nice nurse. 
My nurse is rather nice ; but she will ’cold 
me to-day, won’t she ?” he added, laughing, 
pointing to the terrible rents in his garments. 
“ These are my very oldestest things; that’s 
a good thing, isn’t it ? Nurse ys I don’t 
look like Master Phil in these, but when I 
have on my blue w T elpet, then I look like Master 
Phil. I shall have my blue welpet when 
mother comes.” 

“ Is your mother away ?” said Griselda. 

“ Oh, yes, she’s been away a long time ; so 
nurse came here to take care of me at the 
farm-house, you know. Mother was ill, but 
she’s better now, and some day she’ll come 
too.” 

“ Do you like being at the farm-house ? Have 
you anybody to play with ?” said Griselda. 

Phil shook his curly head. “ I never have 
anybody to play with,” he said. “ I’d like ttf 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


137 


play with you if you’re not too big. And do 
you think you could help me to find the 
cuckoo ?” he added insinuatingly. 

“ What do you know about the cuckoo ?” 
said Griselda. 

“ He called me,” said Phil ; “ he called me 
lots of times ; and to-day nurse was busy, so I 
thought I’d come. And do you know,” he 
added mysteriously, “ I do believe the cuckoo’s 
a fairy, and when I find him I’m going to ask 
him to show me the way to fairyland.” 

“ He says we must all find the way ourselves,” 
said Griselda, quite forgetting to whom she was 
speaking. 

“ Does he ?” cried Phil in great excitement. 
“ Do you know him, then, and have you asked 
him ? Oh, do tell me !” 

Griselda recollected herself. “You couldn’t 
understand,” she said. “ Some day perhaps 
I’ll tell you — I mean if ever I see you 
again.” 

“But I may see you again,” said Phil, set- 
tling himself down comfortably beside Griselda 
on her mossy stone. “ You’ll let me come, won’t 
you ? I like to talk about fairies, and nurse 
doesn’t understand. And if the cuckoo knows 
you, perhaps that’s why he called me to come 
to play with you.” 


138 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


“ How did lie call you ?” asked Griselda. 

“ First,” said Phil gravely, "it was in the 
night. I was asleep, and I had been wishing 
I had somebody to play with, and then I 
d’eamed of the cuckoo — such a nice d’eam. 
And when I woke up I heard him calling me, 
and I wasn’t d’eaming then. And then when 
I was in the field he called me, but I couldn’t 
find him, and nurse said ‘ Nonsense.’ And 
to-day he called me again, so I earned up 
through the bushes. And mayn’t I come 
again ? Perhaps if we both tried together we 
could find the way to fairyland. Do you think 
we could ?” 

“ I don’t know,” said Griselda dreamily. 
“ There’s a great deal to learn first, the cuckoo 
says.” 

“ Have you learned a great deal ?” (he called 
it “ a gate deal ”) asked Phil, looking up at 
Griselda with increased respect. “ I don’t know 
scarcely nothing. Mother was ill such a long 
time before she went away, but I know she 
wanted me to learn to read books. But nurse 
is too old to teach me.” 

“ Shall I teach you ?” said Griselda. “ I 
can bring some of my old books and teach you 
here after I have done my own lessons,” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


139 


“ And then mother would he surprised when 
she comes back,” said Master Phil, clapping his 
hands. “ Oh, do ! And when I’ve learned to 
read a great deal, do you think the cuckoo 
would show us the way to fairyland ? 

“ I don’t think it was that sort of learning he 
meant,”, said Griselda. “ But I dare say that 
would help. I think,” she went on, lowering 
her voice a little and looking down gravely 
into Phil’s earnest eyes, “ I think he means 
mostly learning to be very good — very, very 
good, you know.” 

“ Gooder than you ?” said Phil. 

“ Oh, dear, yes ; lots and lots gooder than 
me,” replied Griselda. 

“ I think you’re very good,” observed Phil, 
in a parenthesis. Then he went on with his 
cross-questioning. 

“ Gooder than mother ?” 

“ I don’t know your mother, so how can I 
tell how good she is ?” said Griselda. 

“ I can tell you,” said Phil importantly. 
“ She is just as good as — as good as — as good 
as good. That’s what she is.” 

“ You mean she couldn’t be better,” said Gri- 
selda, smiling. 

“ Yes, that’ll do, if you like. Would that be 
good enough for us to be, do you think ?” 


140 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“We must ask the cuckoo,” said Griselda. 
“But I’m sure it would be a good thing for you to 
learn to read. You must ask your nurse to let 
you come here every afternoon that it’s fine, and 
I’ll ask my aunt.” 

“ I needn’t ask nurse,” said Phil composedly. 
“ She’ll never know where I am, and I needn’t 
tell her. She doesn’t care what I do, except 
tearing my clothes ; and when she scolds me, I 
don’t care.” 

“ That isn’t good, Phil,” said Griselda gravely. 
“ You’ll never be as good as good if you speak 
like that.” 

“ What should I say, then ? Tell me,” said 
the little boy submissively. 

“ You should ask nurse to let you come to 
play with me, and tell her I’m much bigger 
than you, and I won’t let you tear your clothes. 
And you should tell her you’re very sorry 
you’ve torn them to-day.” 

“ Very well,” said Phil ; “ I’ll say that. But, 
oh, see !” he exclaimed, darting off, “ there’s a 
field-mouse ! If only I could catch him !” 

Of course he couldn’t catch him, nor could 
Griselda either ; very ready, though, she was to 
do her best. But it was great fun all the same, 
and the children laughed heartily, and enjoyed 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


141 


themselves tremendously. And when they 
were tired they sat down again, and gathered 
flowers for nosegays; and Griselda was sur- 
prised to find how clever Phil was about it. 
He was much quicker than she at spying out 
the prettiest blossoms, however hidden behind 
tree, or stone, or shrub. And he told her of all 
the best places for flowers near by, and where 
grew the largest primroses and the sweetest 
violets, in a way that astonished her. 

“ You’re such a little boy,” she said ; “ how 
do you know so much about flowers ?” 

“ I’ve had no one else to play with,” he said 
innocently. “ And then, you know, the fairies 
are so fond of them.” 

When Griselda thought it was time to go 
home, she led little Phil down the wood path 
and through the door in the wall opening on to 
the lane. 

“ Now you can find your way home without 
scrambling through any more bushes, can’t you, 
Master Phil ?” she said. 

“ Yes, thank you ; and I’ll come again to that 
place to-morrow afternoon — shall I ?” asked 
Phil. “I’ll know when — after I’ve had my 
dinner and raced three times round the big 
field, then it’ll be time. That’s how it was to- 
day.” 


142 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ I should think it would do if you walked 
three times — or twice if you like — round the 
field. It isn’t a good thing to race just when 
you’ve had your dinner,” observed Griselda 
sagely. “ And you mustn’t try to come if it 
isn’t fine, for my aunts won’t let me go out if 
it rains even the tiniest bit. And of course 
you must ask your nurse’s leave.” 

“ Very well,” said little Phil as he trotted off. 
“ I’ll try to remember all those things. I’m so 
glad you’ll play with me again ; and if you see 
the cuckoo, please thank him.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


143 


CHAPTER IX. 

UP AND DOWN THE CHIMNEY. 

Helper. Well, but if it was all dream, it would be 
the same as if it was all real, would it not? 

Keeper. Yes, I see. I mean, sir, I do not see . — A 
Liliput Revel. 

Not having “ just had her dinner,” and feel- 
ing very much inclined for her tea, Griselda ran 
home at a great rate. 

She felt, too, in such a good spirits ; it had 
been so delightful to have a companion in her 
play. 

“ What a good thing it was I didn’t make 
Phil run away before I found out what a nice 
little boy he was,” she said to herself. “ I 
must look out my old reading-books to-night. 
I shall so like teaching him, poor little boy ! 
and the cuckoo will be pleased at my doing 
something useful, I’m sure.” 

Tea was quite ready, in fact waiting for her, 
when she came in. This was a meal she al- 


144 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


ways had by herself, brought up on a tray to 
Dorcas’ little sitting-room, where Dorcas waited 
upon her. And sometimes when Griselda was 
in a particularly good humor she would beg 
Dorcas to sit down and have a cup of tea with 
her — a liberty the old servant was far too dig- 
nified and respectful to have thought of taking, 
unless specially requested to do so. 

This evening, as you know, Griselda was in 
a very particularly good humor, and besides 
this, so very full of her adventures that she 
would have been glad of an even less sympa- 
thizing listener than Dorcas was likely to be. 

“ Sit down, Dorcas, and have some more tea, 
do,” she said coaxingly. “ It looks ever so 
much more comfortable, and I’m sure you could 
eat a little more if you tried, whether you’ve 
had your tea in the kitchen or not. I’m fear- 
fully hungry, I can tell you. You’ll have to 
cut a whole lot more bread-and-butter, and not 
‘ ladies’ slices ’ either.” 

“ How your tongue does go, to be sure, Miss 
Griselda,” said Dorcas, smiling as she seated 
herself on the chair Griselda had drawn in for 
her. 

“And why shouldn’t it?” said Griselda 
saucily. “It doesn’t do it any harm. But 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


145 


oh, Dorcas, I’ve had such fun this afternoon 
— really, you couldn’t guess what I’ve been 
doing.” 

“Very likely not, missie,” said Dorcas. 

“ But you might try to guess. Oh, no, I 
don’t think you need — guessing takes such a 
time, and I want to tell you. Just fancy, Dor- 
cas, I’ve been playing with a little boy in the 
wood.” 

“ Playing with a little boy, Miss Griselda !” 
exclaimed Dorcas aghast. 

“ Yes ; and he’s coming again to-morrow and 
the day after, and every day, I dare say,” said 
Griselda. “ He is such a nice little boy.” 

“ But, missie,” began Dorcas. 

“Well? What’s the matter ? You needn’t 
look like that — as if I had done something 
naughty,” said Griselda sharply. 

“ But you’ll tell your aunt, missie ?” 

“ Of course,” said Griselda, looking up fear- 
lessly into Dorcas’ face with her bright gray 
eyes. “ Of course ; why shouldn’t I ? I must 
ask her to give the little boy leave to come into 
our grounds ; and I told the little boy to be 
sure to tell his nurse, who takes care of him, 
about his playing with me.” 

“ His nurse,” repeated Dorcas, in a tone of 


146 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


some relief. “ Tlien he must be quite a little 
boy ; perhaps Miss Grizzel would not object so 
much in that case.” 

“ Why should she object at all ? She might 
know I wouldn’t want to play with a naughty, 
rude boy,” said Griselda. 

“ She thinks all boys rude and naughty, I’m 
afraid, missie,” said Dorcas. “ All, that is to 
say, excepting your dear papa. But then, of 
course, she had the bringing up of him in her 
own way from the beginning.” 

“Well, I’ll ask her, anyway,” said Griselda; 
“ and if she says I’m not to play with him, I 
shall think — I know what I shall think of Aunt 
Grizzel, whether I say it or not.” 

And the old look of rebellion and discontent 
settled down again on her rosy face. 

“ Be careful, missie, now do, there’s a dear 
good girl,” said Dorcas anxiously, an hour later, 
when Griselda, dressed as usual in her little 
white muslin frock, was ready to join her aunts 
at dessert. 

But Griselda would not condescend to make 
any reply. 

“Aunt Grizzel,” she said suddenly, when she 
had eaten an orange and three biscuits and 
drunk half a glass of home-made elderberry 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


147 


wine, “ Aunt Grizzel, when I was out in the 
garden to-day — down the wood path, I mean 
— I met a little boy, and he played with me, 
and I want to know if he may come every day 
to play with me.” 

Griselda knew she was not making her re- 
quest in a very amiable or becoming manner ; 
she knew, indeed, that she was making it in 
such a way as was almost certain to lead to its 
being refused ; and yet, though she was really 
so very, very anxious to get leave to play with 
little Phil, she took a sort of spiteful pleasure 
in injuring her own cause. 

How foolish ill -temper makes us ! Griselda 
had allowed herself to get so angry at the 
thought of being thwarted that, had her aunt 
looked up quietly and said at once, “ Oh, yes, 
you may have the little boy to play with you 
whenever you like,” she would really, in a 
strange, distorted sort of way, have been disap- 
pointed. 

But, of course, Miss Grizzel made no such 
reply. Nothing less than a miracle could have 
made her answer Griselda otherwise than as she 
did. Like Dorcas, for an instant she was 
utterly “ flabbergasted,” if you know what that 
means. For she was quite an old lady, you 


148 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


know ; and, sensible as she was, things upset 
her much more easily than when she was 
younger. 

Naughty Griselda saw her uneasiness, and 
enjoyed it. 

“ Playing with a boy !” exclaimed Miss Griz- 
zel. “A boy in my grounds, and you, my 
niece, to have played with him !” 

“ Yes,” said Griselda coolly, “ and I want to 
play with him again.” 

“ Griselda,” said her aunt, “ I am too as- 
tonished to say more at present. Go to bed.” 

“ Why should I go to bed ? It is not my 
bedtime,” cried Griselda, blazing up. “ What 
have I done to be sent to bed as if I were in 
disgrace ?” 

“ Go to bed,” repeated Miss Grizzel. “ I w r ill 
speak to you to-morrow.” 

“ You are very unfair and unjust,” said Gri- 
selda, starting up from her chair. “ That’s all 
the good of being honest and telling everything. 
I might have played with the little boy every 
day for a month, and you would never have 
known if I hadn’t told you.” 

She banged across the room as she spoke, 
and out at the door, slamming it behind her 
rudely. Then upstairs like a whirlwind ; but 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


149 


when she got to her own room, she sat down 
on the floor and burst into tears ; and when 
Dorcas came up, nearly half an hour later, she 
was still in the same place, crouched up in a 
little heap, sobbing bitterly. 

“ Oh, missie, missie,” said Dorcas, “ it’s just 
what I was afraid of !” 

As Griselda rushed out of the room, Miss 
Grizzel leaned back in her chair and sighed 
deeply. 

“ Already,” she said faintly. “ She was 
never so violent before. Can one afternoon’s 
companionship with rudeness have already 
contaminated her ? Already, Tabitha — can it 
be so ?” 

“ Already,” said Miss Tabitha, softly shaking 
her head, which somehow made her look won- 
derfully like an old cat ; for she felt cold of an 
evening, and usually wore a very fine woolly 
shawl of a delicate gray shade, and the borders 
of her cap and the ruffles round her throat and 
wrists were all of fluffy, downy white — “al- 
ready,” she said. 

u Yet,” said Miss Grizzel, recovering herself a 
little, “it is true what the child said. She 
might have deceived us. Have I been hard 
upon her, Sister Tabitha ?” 


150 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Hard upon her ! Sister Grizzel,” said Miss 
Tabitha with more energy than usual ; “ no, 
certainly not. For once, Sister Grizzel, I dis- 
agree with you. Hard upon her ! Certainly 
not.” 

But Miss Grizzel did not feel happy. 

When she went up to her own room at night, 
she was surprised to find Dorcas waiting for 
her, instead of the younger maid. 

“ I thought you would not mind having me, 
instead of Martha, to-night, ma’am,” she said, 
“ for 1 did so want to speak to you about Miss 
Griselda. The poor, dear young lady has gone 
to bed so very unhappy.” 

“ But do you know what she has done, Dor- 
cas?” said Miss Grizzel. “ Admitted a boy, a 
rude, common, impertinent boy, into my pre- 
cincts, and played with him — with a boy, 
Dorcas.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” said Dorcas. “I know all 
about it ma’am. Miss Griselda has told me all. 
But if you would allow me to give an opinion, 
it isn’t quite so bad. He’s quite a little boy, 
ma’am — between five and six — only just 
about the age Miss Griselda’s dear papa was 
when he first came to us, and, by all I can 
hear, quite a little gentleman.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


151 


“ A little gentleman,” repeated Miss Grizzel, 
“and not six years old! That is less objec- 
tionable than I expected. What is his name, 
as you know so much, Dorcas ?” 

“ Master Phil,” replied Dorcas. “ That is 
what he told Miss Griselda, and she never 
thought to ask him more. But I’ll tell you 
how we could get to hear more about him, I 
think, ma’am. From what Miss Griselda says, 
I believe he is staying at Mr. Crouch’s farm, 
and that, you know, ma’am, belongs to my Lady 
Lavender, though it is a good way from Merry- 
brow Hall. My lady is pretty sure to know 
about the child ; for she knows all that goes 
on among her tenants, and I remember hear- 
ing that a little gentleman and his nurse 
had come to Mr. Crouch’s to lodge for six 
months.” 

Miss Grizzel listened attentively. 

“ Thank you, Dorcas,” she said, when the 
old servant had left off speaking. “ You have 
behaved with your usual discretion. I shall 
drive over to Merry brow to-morrow, and make 
inquiry. And you may tell Miss Griselda in 
the morning what I purpose doing ; but tell her 
also that, as a punishment for her rudeness and 
ill -temper, she must have breakfast in her own 


152 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


room to-morrow, and not see me till I send for 
her. Had she restrained her temper and ex- 
plained the matter, all this distress might have 
been saved.” 

Dorcas did not wait till “ to-morrow morn- 
ing ; ” she could not bear to think of Griselda’s 
unhappiness. From her mistress’ room she 
went straight to the little girl’s, going in very 
softly, so as not to disturb her should she be 
sleeping. 

“ Are you awake, missie ?” she said gently. 

Griselda started up 

“ Yes,” she exclaimed. “ Is it you, cuckoo ? 
I’m quite awake.” 

‘ ‘ Bless the child,” said Dorcas to herself, 
“how her head does run on Miss Sybilla’s 
cuckoo. It’s really wonderful. There’s more 
in such things than some people think.” 

But aloud she only replied : 

“ It’s Dorcas, missie. No fairy, only old Dor- 
cas come to comfort you a bit. Listen, missie. 
Your auntie is going over to Merry brow Hall 
to-morrow to inquire about this little Master 
Phil from my Lady Lavender, for we think it’s 
at one of her ladyship’s farms that he and 
his nurse are staying ; and if she hears that he’s 
a nice-mannered little gentleman and comes of 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


153 


good parents — why, missie, there’s no saying 
but that you’ll get leave to play with him as 
much as you like.” 

“ But not to-morrow, Dorcas,” said Griselda. 
“ Aunt Grizzel never goes to Merry brow till 
the afternoon. She won’t be back in time for 
me to play with Phil to-morrow.” 

“ No, but next day, perhaps,” said Dorcas. 

“ Oh, but that won’t do,” said Griselda, be» 
ginning to cry again. “ Poor little Phil will be 
coming up to the wood path to-morrow ; and if 
he doesn’t find me, he’ll be so unhappy — per- 
haps he’ll never come again if I don’t meet him 
to-morrow.” 

Dorcas saw that the little girl was worn 
out and excited, and not yet inclined to take 
a reasonable view of things. 

“ Go to sleep, missie,” she said kindly, “ and 
don’t think anything more about it till to- 
morrow. It will be all right, you’ll see,” 

Her patience touched Griselda. 

“You are very kind, Dorcas,” she said. 
“ I don’t mean to be cross to you ; but I can’t 
bear to think of poor little Phil. Perhaps he’ll 
sit down on my mossy stone and cry. Poor 
little Phil !” 

But notwithstanding her distress, when Dor- 


154 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


cas had left her she did feel her heart a little 
lighter, and somehow or other before long she 
fell asleep. 

When she awoke, it seemed to be suddenly, 
and she had the feeling that something had 
disturbed her. She lay for a minute or two 
perfectly still — listening. Yes ; there it was 
— the soft, faint rustle in the air that she 
knew so well. It seemed as if something was 
moving away from her. 

“ Cuckoo,” she said gently, “ is that you ?” 

A moment’s pause, then came the answer — 
the pretty greeting she expected. 

“ Cuckoo, cuckoo,” soft and musical. Then 
the cuckoo spoke. 

“Well, Griselda,” he said, “and how are 
you ? It’s a good while since we have had any 
fun together.” 

“ That’s not my fault,” said Griselda sharply. 
She was not yet feeling quite as amiable as 
might have been desired, you see. “ That’s 
certainly not my fault,” she repeated. 

“ I never said it was,” replied the cuckoo. 
“ Why will you jump at conclusions so ? It’s 
a very bad habit; for very often you jump 
over them, you see, and go too far. One 
should always walk up to conclusions, very 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


255 


slowly and evenly, right foot first, then left, 
one with another — that’s the way to get where 
you want to go, and feel sure of your ground. 
Do you see ?” 

“ I don’t know whether I do or not, and I’m 
not going to speak to you if you go on at me 
like that. You might see I don’t want to be 
lectured when I am so unhappy.” 

u What are you unhappy about ?” 

“ About Phil, of course. I won’t tell you, 
for I believe you know,” said Griselda. “ W asn’t 
it you that sent him to play with me ? I was 
so pleased, and I thought it was very kind of 
you ; but it’s all spoiled now.” 

“ But I heard Dorcas saying that your aunt 
is going over to consult my Lady Lavender 
about it,” said the cuckoo. “ It’ll be all right ; 
you needn’t be in Stich low spirits about 
nothing.” 

“ Were you in the room then ?” said Griselda. 
“ How funny you are, cuckoo ! But it isn’t all 
right. Don’t you see, poor little Phil will be 
coming up the wood path to morrow afternoon 
to meet me, and I won’t be there ! I can’t bear 
to think of it.” 

“ Is that all ?” said the cuckoo. “ It really 
is extraordinary how some people make 


156 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


troubles out of nothing ! We can easily tell 
Phil not to come till the day after. Come 
along.” 

“ Come along,” repeated Griselda ; “ what do 
you mean ?” 

“ Oh, I forgot,” said the cuckoo. “ You don’t 
understand. Put out your hand. There, do 
you feel me ?” 

“ Yes,” said Griselda, stroking gently the soft 
feathers which seemed to be close under her 
hand. “ Yes, I feel you.” 

“ Well, then,” said the cuckoo, “put your 
arms round my neck, and hold me firm. I’ll 
lift you up.” 

“ How can you talk such nonsense, cuckoo ?” 
said Griselda. “ Why, one of my little fingers 
would clasp your neck. How can I put my 
arms round it ?” 

“ Try,” said the cuckoo. 

Somehow Griselda had to try. 

She held out her arms in the cuckoo’s di- 
rection, as if she expected his neck to be about 
the size of a Shetland pony’s, or a large New- 
foundland dog’s ; and, to her astonishment, so 
it was ! A nice, comfortable, feathery neck it 
felt — so soft that she could not help laying her 
head down upon it, and nestling in the downy 
cushion. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


157 


“ That’s right/’ said the cuckoo. 

Then he seemed to give a little spring, and 
Griselda felt herself altogether lifted on to his 
back. She lay there as comfortable as possible 
— it felt so firm as well as soft. Up he flew a 
little way — then stopped short. 

“ Are you all right ?” he inquired. “ You’re 
not afraid of falling off ?” 

“ Oh, no,” said Griselda ; “ not a bit.” 

“ You needn’t be,” said the cuckoo, “ for you 
couldn’t if you tried. I’m going on, then.” 

“ Where to ?” said Griselda. 

“Up the chimney first,” said the cuckoo. 

“ But there’ll never be room,” said Griselda. 
“ I might, perhaps, crawl up like a sweep, hands 
and knees, you know, like going up a ladder. 
But stretched out like this — it’s just as if I 
were lying on a sofa — I couldn’t go up the 
chimney.” 

“Couldn’t you?” said the cuckoo. “We’ll 
see. I intend to go, anyway, and take you 
with me. Shut your eyes — one, two, three — 
here goes — we’ll be up the chimney before 
you know.” 

It was quite true. Griselda shut her eyes 
tight. She felt nothing but a pleasant sort 
of rush. Then she heard the cuckoo’s voice 
saying: 


158 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


44 Well, wasn’t that well done ? Open your 
eyes and look about you.” 

Griselda did so. Where were they ? 

They were floating about above the top of 
the house, which Griselda saw down below 
them, looking dark and vast. She felt confused 
and bewildered. 

“Cuckoo,” she said, “I don’t understand. 
Is it I that have grown little, or you that have 
grown big ?” 

“Whichever you please,” said the cuckoo. 
“ You have forgotten. I told you long ago it is 
all a matter of fancy.” 

“Yes, if everything grew little together,” 
persisted Griselda ; “ but it isn’t everything. 
It’s just you or me, or both of us. No, it can’t 
be both of us. And I don’t think it can be me ; 
for if any of me had grown little all would, and 
my eyes haven’t grown little, for everything 
looks as big as usual, only you a great deal 
bigger. My eyes can’t have grown bigger 
without the rest of me, surely, for the moon 
looks just the same. And I must have grown 
little, or else we couldn’t have got up the chim- 
ney. Oh, cuckoo, you have put all my think- 
ing into such a muddle !” 

4 Never mind,” said the cuckoo. 44 It’ll show 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


159 


you how little consequence big and little are of. 
Make yourself comfortable all the same. Are 
you all right ? Shut your eyes if you like. 
I’m going pretty fast.” 

“ Where to ?” said Griselda. 

“ To Phil, of course,” said the cuckoo. 
“ What a bad memory you have ! Are you 
comfortable ?” 

“Very, thank you,” replied Griselda, giving 
the cuckoo’s neck an affectionate hug as she 
spoke. 

“ That’ll do, thank you. Don’t throttle me, 
if it’s quite the same to you,” said the cuckoo. 
“ Here goes — one, two, three,” and off he flew 
again. 

Griselda shut her eyes and lay still. It was 
delicious — the gliding, yet darting motion, 
like nothing she had ever felt before. It did 
not make her the least giddy, either, but a 
slightly sleepy feeling came over her. She 
felt no inclination to open her eyes ; and, in- 
deed, at the rate they were going, she could 
have distinguished very little had she done 
so. 

Suddenly the feeling in the air about her 
changed. For an instant it felt more rushy 
than before, and there was a queer, dull sound 


160 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


in her ears. Then she felt that the cuckoo had 
stopped. 

u Where are we ?” she asked. 

“We’ve just come down a chimney again,” 
said the cuckoo. “ Open your eyes, and clam- 
ber down off my back, but don’t speak loud, 
or you’ll waken him, and that wouldn’t do. 
There you are — the moonlight’s coming in 
nicely at the window — you can see your 
way.” 

Griselda found herself in a little bedroom, 
quite a tiny one ; and by the look of the simple 
furniture and the latticed window, she saw that 
she was not in a grand house. But everything 
looked very neat and nice, and on a little bed 
in one corner lay a lovely sleeping child. It 
was Phil. He looked so pretty asleep — his 
shaggy curls all tumbling about, his rosy 
mouth half open as if smiling, one little hand 
tossed over his head, the other tight clasping 
a little basket which he had insisted on taking 
to bed with him, meaning as soon as he was 
dressed the next morning to run out and fill 
it with flowers for the little girl he had made 
friends with. 

Griselda stepped up to the side of the bed 
on tiptoe. The cuckoo had disappeared, but 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


161 


Griselda heard his voice. It seemed to come 
from a little way up the chimney. 

“Don’t wake him,” said the cuckoo, “but 
whisper what you want to say into his ear as 
soon as I have called him. He’ll understand ; 
he’s accustomed to my ways.” 

Then came the old note, soft and musical as 
ever : 

“Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. Listen, Phil,” 
said the cuckoo ; and without opening his eyes 
a change passed over the little boy’s face. 
Griselda could see that he was listening to hear 
her message. 

“ He thinks he’s dreaming, I suppose,” she 
said to herself with a smile. Then she whis- 
pered softly : 

“ Phil, dear, don’t come to play with me 
to-morrow, for I can’t come. But come the day 
after. I’ll be at the wood path then.” 

“ Welly well,” murmured Phil. Then he 
put out his two arms toward Griselda, all with- 
out opening his eyes, and she, bending down, 
kissed him softly. 

“ Phil’s so sleepy,” he whispered, like a baby 
almost. Then he turned over, and went to 
sleep more soundly than before. 

“ That’ll do,” said the cuckoo. “Come along, 
Griselda.” 


162 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Griselda obediently made her way to the 
place whence the cuckoo’s voice seemed to 
come. 

“ Shut your eyes and put your arms round 
my neck again/’ said the cuckoo. 

She did not hesitate this time. It all hap- 
pened just as before. There came the same 
sort of rushy sound ; then the cuckoo stopped, 
and Griselda opened her eyes. 

They were up in the air again — a good 
way up too; for some grand old elms that 
stood beside the farm-house were gently waving 
their topmost branches a yard or two from 
where the cuckoo was poising himself and Gri- 
selda. 

“ Where shall we go to now ?” he said. “ Or 
would you rather go home ? Are you tired ?” 

“ Tired !” exclaimed Griselda. “ I should 
rather think not. How could I be tired, 
cuckoo ?” 

“ Very well, don’t excite yourself about 
nothing, whatever you do,” said the cuckoo. 
“ Say where you’d like to go.” 

“How can I ?” said Griselda. “You know 
far more nice places than I do.” 

“You don’t care to go back to the manda- 
rins, or the butterflies, I suppose ?” asked the 
cuckoo. 






1 



9 


J 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


163 


“No, thank you,” said Griselda; “I’d like 
something new. And I’m not sure that I care 
for seeing any more countries of that kind, 
unless you .could take me to the real fairy- 
land.” 

“ I can’t do that, you know,” said the cuckoo. 

Just then a faint “soughing” sound among 
the branches suggested another idea to Gri- 
selda. 

“ Cuckoo,” she exclaimed, “ take me to the 
sea. It’s such a time since I saw the sea. I 
can fancy I hear it ; do take me to see it.” 


164 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


CHAPTER X. 

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE MOON. 

“ That after supper-time has come. 

And silver dews the meadow steep, 

And all is silent in the home. 

And even nurses are asleep. 

That be it late, or be it soon. 

Upon this lovely night in June 
They both will step into the moon.” 

“ Very well,” said the cuckoo. “ You would 
like to look about you a little on the way, per- 
haps, Griselda, as we shall not be going down 
chimneys, or anything of that kind just at 
present.” 

“Yes,” said Griselda. “I think I should. 
Pm rather tired of shutting my eyes, and I’m 
getting quite accustomed to flying about with 
you, cuckoo.” 

“Turn on your side, then,” said the cuckoo, 
“ and you won’t have to twist your neck to see 
over my shoulder. Are you comfortable now ? 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


165 


And, by-the-bye, as you may be cold, just feel 
under my left wing. You’ll find the feather 
mantle there that you had on once before. 
Wrap it round you. I tucked it in at the last 
moment, thinking you might want it.” 

“ Oh, you dear, kind cuckoo !” cried Griselda. 
“Yes, I’ve found it. I’ll tuck it all around me 
like a rug — that’s it. I am so warm now, 
cuckoo.” 

“Here goes, then,” said the cuckoo; and off 
they set. Had ever a little girl such a flight 
before ? Floating, darting, gliding, sailing — 
no words can describe it. Griselda lay still in 
delight, gazing all about her. 

“ How lovely the stars are, cuckoo !” she 
said. “Is it true they’re all great, big suns ? 
I’d rather they weren’t. I like to think of 
them as nice, funny little things.” 

“ They’re not all suns,’ 1 said the cuckoo. 
“ Not all those you’re looking at now.” 

“I like the twinkling ones best,” said Gri- 
selda. “ They look so good-natured. Are they 
all twirling about always, cuckoo ? Mr. Knee- 
breeches has just begun to teach me astronomy, 
and he says they are ; but I’m not at all sure 
that he knows much about it.” 

“ He’s quite right all the same,” replied the 
cuckoo. 


1C6 THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 

u Oh, dear me ! How tired they must be, 
then!” said Griselda. “Do they never rest 
just for a minute ?” 

“ Never.” 

“ Why not?” 

“ Obeying orders,” replied the cuckoo. 

Griselda gave a little wriggle. 

“What’s the use of it?” she said. “It 
would be just as nice if they stood still now 
and then.” 

“Would it?” said the cuckoo. “I know 
somebody would find fault if they did. What 
would you say to no summer; no day, or no 
night, whichever it happened not to be, you 
see ; nothing growing, and nothing to eat be- 
fore long ? That’s what it would be if they 
stood still, you see, because ” 

“ Thank you, cuckoo,” interrupted Griselda. 
“ It’s very nice to hear you — I mean, very 
dreadful to think of, but I don’t want you to 
explain. I’ll ask Mr. Kneebreeches when I’m 
at my lessons. You might tell me one thing, 
however. What’s at the other side of the 
moon ?” 

“There’s a variety of opinions,” said the 
cuckoo. 

“ What are they ? Tell me the funniest,” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


167 


“ Some say all the unfinished work of the 
world is kept there,” said the cuckoo. 

“ That’s not funny,” said Griselda. “ What 
a messy place it must be ! Why, even my un- 
finished work makes cpiite a heap. I don’t like 
that opinion at all, cuckoo. Tell me another.” 

“ I have heard,” said the cuckoo, “ that 
among the places there you would find the 
country of the little black dogs. You know 
what sort of creatures those are ?” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” said Griselda rather 
reluctantly. 

“ There are a good many of them in this 
world, as of course you know,” continued the 
cuckoo. u But up there they are much worse 
than here. When a child has made a great 
pet of one down here, I’ve heard tell, the 
fairies take him up there when his parents 
and nurses think he’s sleeping quietly in his 
bed, and make him work hard all night, with 
his own particular little black dog on his back. 
And it’s so dreadfully heavy — for every time 
he takes it on his back down here it grows a 
pound heavier up there — that by morning the 
child is quite worn out. I dare say you’ve 
noticed how haggard and miserable some ill- 
tempered children get to look — now you’ll 
know the reason.” 


168 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


“ Thank you, cuckoo,” said Griselda again ; 
“ but I can’t say I like this opinion about the 
other side of the moon any better than the first. 
If you please, I would rather not talk about it 
any more.” 

“ Oh, but it’s not so bad an idea, after all,” 
said the cuckoo. “ Lots of ckilden, they say, 
get quite cured in the country of the little 
black dogs. It’s this way — for every time a 
child refuses to take the dog on his back down 
here it grows a pound lighter up there, so at 
last any sensible child learns how much better 
it is to have nothing to say to it at all, and 
gets out of the way of it, you see. Of course, 
there are children whom nothing would cure, I 
suppose. What becomes of them I really can’t 
say. Very likely they get crushed into pan- 
cakes by the weight of the dogs at last, and 
then nothing more is ever heard of them.” 

“ Horrid !” said Griselda, with a shudder. 
“ Don’t let’s talk about it any more, cuckoo ; 
tell me your own opinion of what there really 
is on the other side of the moon.” 

The cuckoo was silent for a moment. Then 
suddenly he stopped short in the middle of his 
flight. 

“ Would you like to see for yourself, Grb 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


169 


eelda ?” lie said. “ There would be about time 
to do it,” he added to himself, “ and it would 
fulfill her other wish too.” 

“ See the moon for myself, do you mean ?” 
cried Griselda, clasping her hands. “ I should 
rather think I would. Will you really take 
me there, cuckoo ?” 

“ To the other side,” said the cuckoo. “ I 
couldn’t take you to this side.” 

“ Why not ? Not that I’d care to go to this 
side as much as to the other ; for, of course, we 
can see this side from here. But I’d like to 
know why you couldn’t take me there.” 

“ For reasons,” said the cuckoo dryly. “ I’ll 
give you one if you like. If I took you to this 
side of the moon you wouldn’t be yourself when 
you got there.” 

“ Who would I be, then ?” 

“ Griselda,” said the cuckoo, “ I told you 
once that there are a great many things you 
don’t know. Now I’ll tell you something more. 
There are a great many things you’re not 
intended to know.” 

“Very well,” said Griselda. “But do tell 
me when you’re going on again, and where you 
are going to take me to. There’s no harm in 
my asking that ?” 


170 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ No,” said the cuckoo. “ I’m going on im- 
mediately ; and I’m going to take you where 
you wanted to go to, only you must shut your 
eyes again, and lie perfectly still without talk- 
ing, for I must put on steam — a good deal of 
steam — rand I can’t talk to you. Are you all 
right ?” 

“ All right,” said Griselda. 

She had hardly said the words when she 
seemed to fall asleep. The rushing sound in 
the air all round her increased so greatly that 
she was conscious of nothing else. For a mo- 
ment or two she tried to remember where she 
was and where she was going, but it was use- 
less. She forgot everything, and knew nothing 
more of what was passing till — till she heard 
the cuckoo again. 

“ Cuckoo, cuckoo ; wake up, Griselda,” he 
said. 

Griselda sat up. 

Where was she ? 

Not, certainly, where she had been when she 
went to sleep. Not on the cuckoo’s back ; for 
there he was standing beside her, as tiny as 
usual. Either he had grown little again or she 
had grown big — which, she supposed, it did 
not much matter. Only it was very queer ! 

" Where am I, cuckoo ?” she said. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


171 


“ Where you wished to be,” he replied. 
“ Look about you and see.” 

Griselda looked about her. What did she 
see? Something that I can only give you a 
faint idea of, children ; something so strange 
and unlike what she had ever seen before that 
only in a dream could you see it as Griselda 
saw it. And yet why it seemed to her so 
strange and unnatural I cannot well explain; 
if I could, my words would be as good as 
pictures, which I know they are not. 

After all, it was only the sea she saw; but 
such a great, strange, silent sea, for there were 
no waves. Griselda was seated on the shore, 
close beside the water’s edge ; but it did not 
come lapping up to her feet in the pretty, coax- 
ing way that our sea does when it is in good 
humor. There were here and there faint 
ripples on the surface, caused by the slight 
breezes which now and then came softly around 
Griselda’s face, but that was all. King Canute 
might have sat “ from then till now ” by this 
still, lifeless ocean, without the chance of read- 
ing his silly attendants a lesson — if, indeed, 
there ever were such silly people, which I very 
much doubt. 

Griselda gazed with all her eyes. Then she 
suddenly gave a little shiver. 


172 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ What’s the matter ?” said the cuckoo. 
“ You have the mantle on — you’re not cold ?” 

“ No,” said Griselda, “ I’m not cold ; but 
somehow, cuckoo, I feel a little frightened. 
The sea is so strange and so dreadfully big; 
and the light is so queer, too. What is the 
light, cuckoo ? It isn’t moonlight, is it ?” 

“ Not exactly,” said the cuckoo. “ You can’t 
both have your cake and eat it, Griselda. Look 
up at the sky. There’s no moon there, is 
there ?” 

“No,” said Griselda; “but what lots of 
stars, cuckoo. The light comes from them, I 
suppose ? And where’s the sun, cuckoo ? Will 
it be rising soon ? It isn’t always like this up 
here, is it ?” 

“ Bless you, no,” said the cuckoo. “ There’s 
sun enough, and rather too much, sometimes. 
How would you like a day a fornight long and 
nights to match ? If it had been daytime here 
just now I couldn’t have brought you. It’s 
just about the very middle of the night now ; 
and in about a week of your days the sun will 
begin to rise, because, you see- ” 

“ Oh, dear cuckoo, please don’t explain !” 
cried Griselda. “ I’ll promise to ask Mr. Knee- 
breeches, I will, indeed. In fact, he was telling 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


m 

me something just like it to-day, or yesterday- 
which should I say ? — at my astronomy lesson. 
And that makes it so strange that you should 
have brought me up here to-night to see for 
myself, doesn’t it, cuckoo ?” 

“ An odd coincidence,” said the cuckoo. 

“ What would Mr. Kneebreeches think if I 
told him where I had been ?” continued Gri- 
selda. “Only, you see, cuckoo, I never tell 
anybody about what I see when I am with 
you.” 

“ No,” replied the cuckoo ; “ better not.” 
(“ Not that you could if you tried,” he added to 
himself.) “ You’re not frightened now, Griselda, 
are you ?” 

“ No, I don’t think I am,” she replied. “ But, 
cuckoo, isn’t this sea awfully big ?” 

“ Pretty well,” said the cuckoo. “ Just halt, 
or nearly half, the size of the moon ; and no 
doubt Mr. Kneebreeches has told you that 
the moon’s diameter and circumference are 
respec ” 

“ Oh, don’t, cuckoo !” interrupted Griselda 
beseechingly. “ I want to enjoy myself, and 
not to have lessons. Tell me something funny, 
cuckoo. Are there any mermaids in the moon- 
sea ?” 


174 


the cuckoo Block. 


“ Not exactly/’ said the cuckoo. 

“ What a stupid way to answer !” said Gri- 
selda. “ There’s no sense in that ; there either 
must be or must not be. There couldn’t be 
half -mermaids.” 

“ I don’t know about that/’ replied the 
cuckoo. “They might have been here once 
and have left their tails behind them, like 
Bopeep’s sheep, you know ; and some day they 
might be coming to find them again, you know. 
That would do for ‘ not exactly,’ wouldn’t 
it?” 

•“ Cuckoo, you’re laughing at me,” said Gri- 
selda. “ Tell me, are there any mermaids, or 
fairies, or water- sprites, or any of those sorts of 
creatures, here ?” 

“ I must still say 1 not exactly,’ ” said the 
cuckoo. “There are beings here, or rather 
there have been, and there may be again ; 
but you, Griselda, can know no more than 
this.” 

His tone was rather solemn, and again Gri- 
selda felt a little “ eerie.” 

“ It’s a dreadfully long way from home, any- 
way,” she said. “ I feel as if, when I go back, 
I shall perhaps find I have been away fifty 
years or so, like the little boy in the fairy 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


V6 

story. Cuckoo, I think I would like to go 
home. Mayn’t I get on your back again ?” 

“ Presently,” said the cuckoo. “ Don’t be 
uneasy, Griselda. Perhaps I’ll take you home 
by a short cut.” 

“Was ever any child here before?” asked 
Griselda, after a little pause. 

“Yes,” said the cuckoo. 

“ And did they get safe home again ?” 

“ Quite,” said the cuckoo. “ It’s so silly of 
you, Griselda, to have all these ideas still about 
far and nea,r, and big aod little, and long and 
short, after all I’ve taught you and all you’ve 
seen.” 

“ I’m very sorry,” said Griselda humbly ; 
“ but you see, cuckoo, I can’t help it. I suppose 
I’m made so.” 

“ Perhaps,” said the cuckoo meditatively. 

He was silent for a minute. Then he spoke 
again. “ Look over there, Griselda,” he said. 
“ There’s the short cut.” 

Griselda looked. Far, far over the sea, in 
the silent distance, she saw a tiny speck of 
light. It was very tiny ; but yet the strange 
thing was that, far away as it appeared and 
minute as it was, it seemed to throw off a 
thread of light to Griselda’s very feet — right 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


176 

across the great sheet of faintly gleaming 
water. And as Griselda looked, the thread 
seemed to widen and grow, becoming at the 
same time brighter and clearer, till at last it 
lay before her like a path of glowing light. 

“ Am I to walk along there ?” she said softly 
to the cuckoo. 

“ No,” he replied ; “ wait.” 

Griselda waited, looking still, and presently 
in the middle of the shining streak she saw 
something slowly moving — something from 
which the light came, for the nearer it got to 
her the shorter grew the glowing path, and 
behind the moving object the sea looked no 
brighter than before it had appeared. 

At last — at last, it came quite near — near 
enough for Griselda to distinguish clearly what 
it was. 

It was a little boat — the prettiest, the love- 
liest little boat that ever was seen ; and it was 
rowed by a little figure that at first sight Gri- 
selda felt certain was a fairy. For it was a 
child with bright hair and silvery wings, which 
with every movement sparkled and shone like 
a thousand diamonds. 

Griselda sprang up and clapped her hands 
with delight. At the sound the child in the 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


177 

boat turned and looked at her. For one in- 
stant she could not remember Avliere she had 
seen him before ; then she exclaimed joy- 
fully : 

“ It is Phil ! Oh, cuckoo, it is Phil ! Have 
you turned into a fairy, Phil ?” 

But, alas ! as she spoke the light faded away, 
the boy’s figure disappeared, the sea and the 
shore and the sky were all as they had been 
before, lighted only by the faint, strange 
gleaming of the stars. Only the boat re- 
mained. Griselda saw it close to her, in the 
shallow water a few feet from where she 
stood. 

“ Cuckoo,” she exclaimed in a tone of re- 
proach and disappointment, “ where is Phil 
gone ? Why did you send him away ?” 

“ I didn’t send him away,” said the cuckoo. 
“ You don’t understand. Never mind, but get 
into the boat. It’ll be all right, youlll see.” 

“ But are we to go away and leave Phil here, 
all alone at the other side of the moon ?” said 
Griselda, feeling ready to cry. 

“ Oh, you silly girl !” said the cuckoo. 
“ Phil’s all right ; and in some ways he has a 
great deal more sense than you, I can tell 
you. Get into the boat, and make yourself 


178 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


comfortable ; lie down at tbe bottom, and cover 
yourself up with the mantle. You needn’t 
be afraid of wetting your feet a little ; moon- 
water never gives cold. There, now.” 

Griselda did as she was told. She was be- 
ginning to feel rather tired ; and it certainly 
was very comfortable at the bottom of the 
boat, with the nice warm feather mantle well 
tucked round her. 

“ Who wull row ?” she said sleepily. “ You 
can’t, cuckoo; with your tiny little claws, you 
could never hold the oars, I’m ” 

“ Hush !” said the cuckoo ; and whether he 
rowed or not Griselda never knew. 

Off they glided somehow ; but it seemed to 
Griselda that somebody rowed, for she heard 
the soft dip, dip of the oars as they went 
along, so regularly that she couldn’t help be- 
ginning to count in time — one, two, three, 
four — on, on — she thought she had got 
nearly to a hundred, when — 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


179 


CHAPTER XL 

“ CUCKOO, CUCKOO, GOOD-BY !” 

“ Children, try to be good! 

That is the end of all teaching; 

Easily understood. 

And very easy in preaching. 

And if you find it hard, 

Your efforts you need but double; 

Nothing deserves reward 

Unless it has given us trouble.” 

— When she forgot everything, and fell fast, 
fast asleep, to wake, of course, in her own 
little bed as usual ! 

“ One of your tricks again, Mr. Cuckoo,” 
she said to herself with a smile. “However, 
I don’t mind. It was a short cut home, and 
it was very comfortable in the boat ; and I 
certainly saw a great deal last night; and I’m 
very much obliged to you — particularly for 
making it all right with Phil about not coming 
to play with me to-day. Ah ! that reminds 


180 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


me, I’m in disgrace. I wonder if Aunt Grizzel 
will really make me stay in my room all day. 
How tired I shall be ! and what will Mr. Knee- 
breeches think ? But it serves me right. I was 
very cross and rude.” 

There came a tap at the door. It was Dorcas 
with the hot water. 

“ Good-morning, missie,” she said gently, 
not feeling, to tell the truth, very sure as to 
what sort of a humor “ missie ” was likely to be 
found in this morning. “I hope you’ve slept 
well” 

“ Exceedingly well, thank you, Dorcas. I’ve 
had a delightful night,” replied Griselda amia- 
bly, smiling to herself at the thought of what 
Dorcas would say if she knew where she had 
been and what she had been doing since last 
she saw her. 

“ That’s good news,” said Dorcas in a tone of 
relief ; “ and I’ve good news for you, too, missie. 
At least, I hope you’ll think it so. Your aunt 
has ordered the carriage for quite early this 
morning — so you see she really wants to please 
you. missie, about playing with little Master 
Phil ; and if to-morrow’s a fine day, we’ll be 
sure to find some way of letting him know to 
come.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


181 


“ Thank yon, Dorcas. I hope it will be all 
right, and that Lady Lavender won’t say 
anything against it. I dare say she won’t. 
I feel ever so much happier this morning, 
Dorcas ; and I’m very sorry I was so rude to 
Aunt Grizzel, for of course I know I should 
obey her.” 

“That’s right, missie,” said Dorcas approv- 
ingly. 

“ It seems to me, Dorcas,” said Griselda 
dreamily, when, a few minutes later, she was 
standing by the window while the old servant 
brushed out her thick, wavy hair, “ it seems 
to me, Dorcas, that it’s all c obeying orders ’ 
together. There’s the sun now, just getting 
up, and the moon just going to bed — they are 
always obeying, aren’t they ? I wonder why 
it should be so hard for people — for children, 
at least.” 

“ To be sure, missie, you do put it in a way 
of your own,” replied Dorcas, somewhat mysti- 
fied ; “ but I see how you mean, I think, and 
it’s quite true. And it is a hard lesson to 
learn.” 

“ I want to learn it well, Dorcas,” said Gri- 
selda resolutely. “ So will you please tell 
Aunt Grizzel that I’m very sorry about last 


182 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


night, and I’ll do just as she likes about stay- 
ing in my room or anything ? But, if she 
would let me, I’d far rather go down and do 
my lessons as usual for Mr. Kneebreeches. I 
won’t ask to go out into the garden ; but I 
would like to please Aunt Grizzel by doing my 
lessons very well.” 

Dorcas was both delighted and astonished. 
Never had she known her little “ missie ” so 
altogether submissive and reasonable. 

“ I only hope the child’s not going to be ill,” 
she said to herself. But she proved a skillful 
ambassadress, notwithstanding her misgivings ; 
and Griselda’s imprisonment confined her only 
to the bounds of the house and terrace walk, 
instead of within the four walls of her own 
little room, as she had feared. 

Lessons were very well done that day, and 
Mr. Kneebreeches’ report was all that could be 
wished. 

“ I am particularly gratified,” he remarked 
to Miss Grizzel, “ by the intelligence and in- 
terest Miss Griselda displays with regard to 
the study of astronomy, which I have recently 
begun to give her some elementary instruction 
in. And, indeed, I have no fault to find with 
the way in which any of the young lady’s tasks 
are performed.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


183 


“I am extremely glad to hear it,” replied 
Miss Grizzel graciously; and the kiss with 
which she answered Griselda’s request for for- 
giveness was a very hearty one. 

And it was “all right” about Phil. 

Lady Lavender knew all about him ; his 
father and mother were friends of hers, for 
whom she had a great regard, and for some 
time she had been intending to ask the little 
boy to spend the day at Merry brow Hall, to 
be introduced to goddaughter Griselda. So, of 
course, as Lady Lavander knew all about him, 
there could be no objection to his playing in 
Miss Grizzel’s garden. 

And “ to-morrow ” turned out a fine day. 
So altogether you can imagine that Griselda 
felt very happy and light-hearted as she ran 
down the wood path to meet her little friend, 
whose rosy face soon appeared among the 
bushes. 

“ What did you do yesterday, Phil ?” asked 
Griselda. “Were you sorry not to come to 
play with me ?” 

“No,” said Phil mysteriously. “I didn’t 
mind. I was looking for the way to fairy -land 
to show you, and I do believe Pve found it. 
Oh, it is such a pretty way !” 


m 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Griselda smiled. 

“I’m afraid the way to fairy -land isn’t so 
easily found/’ she said. “ But I’d like to hear 
about where you went. Was it far ?” 

“A good way,” said Phil. “Won’t you 
come with me ? It’s in the wood. I can show 
you quite well, and we can be back by tea 
time.” 

“Very well,” said Griselda; and off they 
set. 

Whether it was the way to fairy-] and or not, 
it was not to be wondered at that little Phil 
thought so. He led Griselda right across the 
wood to a part where she had never been be- 
fore. It was pretty rough work part of the 
way. The children had to fight with brambles 
and bushes, and here and there to creep 
through on hands and knees ; and Griselda had 
to remind Phil several times of her promise to 
his nurse that his clothes should not be the 
worse for his playing with her to prevent his 
scrambling through “ anyhow,” and leaving bits 
of his knickerbockers behind him. 

But when at last they reached Phil’s favorite 
spot all their troubles were forgotten. Oh, how 
pretty it was ! It was a sort of tiny glade in 
the very middle of the wood — a little green 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


185 


nest inclosed all around by trees ; and right 
through it the merry brook came rippling 
along as if rejoicing at getting out into the 
sunlight again for awhile. And all the choic- 
est and sweetest of the early summer flowers 
seemed to be collected here in greater variety 
and profusion than in any other part of the 
wood. 

“ Isn’t it nice ?” said Phil as he nestled down 
beside Griselda on the soft mossy grass. “ It 
must have been a fairies’ garden some time, 
I’m sure ; and I shouldn’t wonder if one of the 
doors into fairy -land is hidden somewhere here, 
if only we could find it.” 

“ If only !” said Griselda. “ I don’t think 
we shall find it, Phil ; but, anyway, this is a 
lovely place you’ve found, and I’d like to come 
here very often.” 

Then at Phil’s suggestion they set to work to 
make themselves a house in the center of this 
fairies’ garden, as he called it. They managed 
it very much to their own satisfaction, by drag- 
ging some logs of wood and big stones from 
among the brushwood hard by, and filling the 
holes up with bracken and furze. 

“ And if the fairies do come here,” said Phil, 
“ they’ll be very pleased to find a house all 
ready, won’t they ?” 


186 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


Then they had to gather flowers to ornament 
the house inside, and dry leaves and twigs all 
ready for a fire in one corner. Altogether it 
was quite a business, I can assure you ; and 
when it was finished they were very hot and 
very tired, and rather dirty. Suddenly a 
thought struck Griselda. 

“ Phil,” she said, “ it must be getting late.” 

“ Past tea-time ?” he said coolly. 

“ I dare say it is. Look how low down the 
sun has got. Come, Phil, we must be quick. 
Where is the place we came out of the wood 
at ?” 

“ Here,” said Phil, diving at a little opening 
among the bushes. 

Griselda followed him. He had been a good 
guide hitherto, and she certainly could not have 
found her way alone. They scrambled on for 
some way, then the bushes suddenly seemed to 
grow less thick, and in a minute they came out 
upon a little path. 

“ Phil,” said Griselda, “ this isn’t the way we 
came.” 

“ Isn’t it ?” said Phil, looking about him. 
“ Then we must have corned the wrong way.” 

“ I’m afraid so,” said Griselda, “ and it seems 
to be so late already. I’m so sorry ; for Aunt 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


187 


Grizzel will be vexed, and I did so want to 
please her. Will your nurse be vexed, Phil ?” 

“ I don’t care if she are,” replied Phil val- 
iantly. 

“ You shouldn’t say that, Phil. You know 
we shouldn’t have stayed so long playing.” 

“ Nebber mind,” said Phil. “ If it was 
mother I would mind. Mother’s so good, you 
don’t know. And she never ’colds me, except 
when I am naughty — so I do mind.” 

“ She wouldn’t like you to be out so late, I’m 
sure,” said Griselda in distress; “and it’s most 
my fault, for I’m the biggest. Now, which way 
shall we go ?” 

They had followed the little path till it came 
to a point where two roads, rough cart-ruts 
only, met ; or, rather, where the path ran 
across the road. Right, or left, or straight on, 
which should it be ? Griselda stood still in per- 
plexity. Already it was growing dusk ; already 
the moon’s soft light was beginning faintly 
to glimmer through the branches. Griselda 
looked up to the sky. 

“ To think,” she said to herself — “ to think 
that I should not know my way in a little bit of 
a wood like this — I that was up at the other 
side of the moon last night.” 


188 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


The remembrance put another thought into 
her mind. 

“ Cuckoo, cuckoo,” she said softly, “ couldn’t 
you help us ?” 

Then she stood still and listened, holding 
Phil’s cold little hands in her own. 

She was not disappointed. Presently, in the 
distance, came the well-known cry, u Cuckoo, 
cuckoo,” so soft and far away, but yet so clear. 

Phil clapped his hands. 

“ He’s calling us,” he cried joyfully. “ He’s 
going to show us the way. That’s how he calls 
me always. Good cuckoo, we’re coming and, 
pulling Griselda along, he darted down the road 
to the right — the direction from whence came 
the cry. 

They had some way to go, for they had wan- 
dered far in a wrong direction ; but the cuckoo 
never failed them. Whenever they were at a 
loss — whenever the path turned or divided, 
they heard his clear, sweet call; and with- 
out the least misgiving they followed it, till 
at last it brought them out upon the high 
road, a stone’s throw from Farmer Crouch’s 
gate. 

“ I know the way now, good cuckoo,” ex- 
claimed Phil. “ I can go home alone now, if 
your aunt will be vexed with you.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


189 


“No,” said Griselda, “I must take you quite 
all the way home, Phil dear. I promised to 
take care of you ; and if nurse scolds any one 
it must be me. not you.” 

There was a little bustle about the door of 
the farm-house as the children wearily came up 
to it. Two or three men were standing to- 
gether receiving directions from Mr. Crouch 
himself, and Phil’s nurse was talking eagerly. 
Suddenly she caught sight of the truants. 

“ Here he is, Mr. Crouch !” she exclaimed. 
“ No need now to send to look for him. Oh, 
Master Phil, how could you stay out so late ? 
And to-night of all nights, just when your — 
I forgot, I mustn’t say. Come into the parlor 
at once — and this little girl, who is she ?” 

“ She isn’t a little girl, she’s a young lady,” 
said Master Phil, putting on his lordly air ; 
“ and she’s to come into the parlor and have 
some supper with me, and then some one must 
take her home to her auntie’s house — that’s 
what Isay.” 

More to please Phil than from any wish for 
“ supper,” for she was really in a fidget to get 
home, Griselda let the little boy lead her into 
the parlor. But she was for a moment per- 
fectly startled by the cry that broke from him 


190 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


when he opened the door and looked into the 
room. A lady was standing there, gazing out 
of the window, though in the quickly growing 
darkness she could hardly have distinguished 
the little figure she was watching for so anx- 
iously. 

The noise of the door opening made her look 
round. 

“ Phil !” she cried, “ my own little Phil ! 
where have you been to? You didn’t know I 
was waiting here for you, did you ?” 

“ Mother ! mother !” shouted Phil, darting into 
his mother’s arms. 

But Griselda drew back into the shadow of 
the doorway, and tears filled her eyes as for a 
minute or two she listened to the cooings and 
caressings of the mother and son. 

Only for a minute, however. Then Phil 
called to her. 

“ Mother, mother,” he cried again, “you 
must kiss Griselda too ! She’s the little girl 
that is so kind and plays with me ; and she has 
no mother,” he added in a lower tone. 

The lady put her arm around Griselda, 
and kissed her too. She did not seem sur- 
prised. 

“ I think I know about Griselda,” she said 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


191 


very kindly, looking into her face witk her 
gentle eyes, blue and clear, like Phil’s. 

And then Griselda found courage to say 
how uneasy she was about the anxiety her 
aunts would be feeling, and a messenger was 
sent off at once to tell of her being safe at the 
farm. 

But Griselda herself the kind lady would not 
let go till she had had some nice supper with 
Phil, and was both warmed and rested. 

“ And what were you about, children, to lose 
your way ?” she asked presently. 

u I took Griselda to a place that I thought 
was the way to fairy-land ; and then we stayed 
to build a house for the fairies, in case they 
come ; and then we came out at the wrong side, 
and it got dark,” explained Phil. 

“ And was it the way to fairy -land ?” asked 
his mother, smiling. 

Griselda shook her head as she replied. 

“ Phil doesn’t understand yet,” she said 
gently. “ He isn’t old enough. The way to 
the true fairy -land is hard to find, and 
we must each find it for ourselves, mustn’t 
we ?” 

She looked up in the lady’s face as she spoke, 
and saw that she understood. 


192 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Yes, dear child,” she answered softly, and 
perhaps a very little sadly. “ But Phil and you 
may help each other, and I perhaps may help 
you both.” 

Griselda slid her hand into the lady’s. 
“ You’re not going to take Phil away, are 
you ?” she whispered. 

“ No, I have come to stay here,” she an- 
swered ; “ and Phil’s father is coming too, soon. 
We are going to live at the White House — 
the house on the other side of the wood, on 
the way to Merrybrow. Are you glad, chil- 
dren ?” 


Griselda had a curious dream that night — 
merely a dream, nothing else. She dreamed 
that the cuckoo came once more ; this time, he 
told her, to say “ good-by.” 

“ For you will not need me now,” he said. 
“ I leave you in good hands, Griselda. You 
have friends now who will understand you — 
friends who will help you both to work and 
to play — better friends than the mandarins, or 
Lhe butterflies, or even than your faithful old 
cuckoo.” 

And when Griselda tried to speak to him, to 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


193 


thank him for his goodness, to beg him still 
sometimes to come to see her, he gently fluttered 
away. “ Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo,” he warbled ; 
but somehow the last “ cuckoo ” sounded like 
“ good-by.” 

In the morning, when Griselda awoke, her 
pillow was wet with tears. Thus many stories 
end. She was happy, very happy in the 
thought of her kind new friends ; but there 
were tears for the one she felt she had said 
farewell to, even though he was only a cuckoo 
in a clock. 


THE END 


194 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


THE BANSHEE OF WHITE-GOAT 
GLEN. 


A great many hundred years ago, when 
O’Donnell was building the first castle of 
Donegal, the workmen, do what they would, 
could not make any progress with their work. 
On each night, after they had gone away home, 
every stone that they had built up during the 
day was pulled down and flung back upon the 
ground. Of course, the first time that this 
happened they were very angry, for they 
thought that some mischievous people had 
come and destroyed their work ; and so the 
next night they chose two of their number to 
keep watch, and gave them .the strictest orders 
that at the first sound of any one coming near 
the place they should raise an alarm; but 
when the rest of the men came back in the 
morning, they found the two whom they had 
left rubbing their eyes, and all the stones that 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


195 


had been built up so carefully yesterday thrown 
down once more, and strewed about upon the 
ground. 

As for the men themselves, they were quite 
bewildered and stupefied, and could not tell 
anything that had happened. u It must have 
been the fairies,” was all they could say, “ for 
sure we watched with all our might until we 
fell asleep, and we wouldn’t have fallen asleep 
at all, but such a heaviness came upon our 
eyes that, do what we could, we couldn’t keep 
them open ; and it wasn’t a natural sleep, but 
just something like a swoon.” And indeed 
they looked so confused and strange that, 
though a few of their fellow- workmen laughed 
at them, the greater number thought it no 
laughing matter, but shook their heads and 
w T ent to their work unwillingly, saying below 
their breath that no good would come of fight- 
ing against the fairies. 

However, they worked again all that day, 
and then once more, when evening came, they 
left two of their number to watch. The two 
who were left this time were big, stout men 
who were not afraid of anything, either mor- 
tals or fairies, they said : so they armed them- 
selves with a pair of stout cudgels, and said 


196 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


good-by to their companions, and sat down 
side by side to pass the night. But once more, 
when morning came and the other workmen 
returned, for the third time they found the 
walls pulled down and the stones scattered all 
round upon the ground, and the two big men 
in the midst of them lying so sound asleep that 
they had to kick, and cuff, and shake them be- 
fore they could get them to open their eyes and 
sit up. 

You may imagine how they looked when 
they did open their eyes at last. They sat 
staring round them like men who had lost 
their wits. “We sat as wide awake as ever 
men were,” they said, as soon as they could 
speak, “ and not a sound did we hear as the 
hours passed till the dawn began to creep up 
behind the hills ; and then, all at once, a weight 
like lead began to press upon our eyelids, and 
we got up to shake it off, and we know noth- 
ing more, but we must have fallen down in a 
dead sleep. It’s fairies’ work or devils’ 
work,” they said, and rose upon their feet 
trembling and scared. 

That day the overseer could hardly keep the 
men at all at their labor. Some went away 
altogether, and the others moved about slowly 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


197 


and laid the stones with unwilling hands, 
speaking to one another, when they spoke at 
all, in whispers, and starting at each sound 
they heard. What was the good of going on 
building, they said to one another, when, as 
sure as night came, their work would be de- 
stroyed ? And why, too, should they anger 
the fairies at the bidding of any mortal man ? 
As the hours passed on they grew more and 
more surly, and the overseer began to feel that 
he had got a task to do which was too hard for 
him. 

“ The master must see to it himself,” he said 
at last ; and so, before night returned, he went 
to O’Donnell and told him the strait that they 
were in. 

“ It’s more than flesh and blood that’s fight- 
ing against us,” he said. 

“I don’t believe in much that isn’t flesh 
and blood,” replied O’Donnell, with a laugh. 
“Your men have been stupid, heavy-headed 
fellows. I’ll take the watch to-night, and I 
think it will be the worse for any fairy that 
meddles with me.” 

When evening came, therefore, all the work- 
men went home, many of them shaking their 
heads over the speech that they were told 


198 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


O’Donnell had made, and O’Donnell prepared to 
keep his watch. 

It was a chill autumnal night, and the chief- 
tain wrapped his cloak about him and marched 
like a sentry round and round his walls. 
Hour passed after hour, and not a sound came 
to disturb him ; the quiet little town soon went 
to sleep; the silence was broken by nothing 
but the sound of his own steps. Some time 
after midnight the moon rose, and made a pale 
cold light. 

O’Donnell paced steadily to and fro ; but he 
yawned portentously now and then, for he was 
getting very weary of his watch. “ It’s high 
time that some one were coming — man or 
devil,” he said to himself at last, “ for this is 
dull work.” He gave another great yawn as 
he said these words, and then the very next 
moment his heart leaped almost to his lips ; 
for in the act of yawning he had turned him- 
self round, and there, standing, close before 
him as he turned, he saw a strange, white, 
misty shape. It was standing full in his 
path — a shadowy pale figure, with a shrouded 
face. 

O’Donnell was very brave, but for the mo- 
ment he was taken aback. No sight of living 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


199 


man that might have met him, however sud- 
denly, would have made the blood run quicker 
in his veins ; but this thing was not human, 
it was something mysterious and indistinct. 
He almost thought, as he gazed at it, that he 
saw the moonlight shining through it, so little 
substance did it seem to have. 

“ Who are you, and what are you doing 
here ?” he asked in a firm voice, after only two 
or three seconds had passed. 

He spoke standing still, but with his hand 
stretched out to ward the thing off, for to his 
fancy it seemed to be coming closer to him. 

There was a moment’s silence after he put 
his question, and then a low voice answered 
him : 

“ What am I doing here ? Rather, what are 
you doing here, O’Donnell ?” it said. “ What 
right have you to come and take my sons’ 
ground and build your castle on it ?” 

As soon as he heard this reply, O’Donnell 
burst out laughing. 

“ And who may your sons be ? and how do 
they come to have a better right to the ground 
than I?” he asked. “This ground is mine, 
and to him who desires it I give the lie to his 
teeth ! If you are your sons’ messenger, go 
back to them and tell them that,” 


200 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Alas ! O’Donnell, if I told them that, I fear 
your life would be a short one,” the voice sor- 
rowfully replied. 

It was such a sad, plaintive voice that, hot 
with scorn as O’Donnell was becoming, it 
touched him and checked him in his anger ; so 
that, instead of making a fierce answer, he an- 
swered almost gently : 

“ My life will neither be the longer nor the 
shorter for your sons’ anger, I guess,” he said. 

The figure was standing only an arm’s length 
from him, and yet, near to him as it was, it 
was so shrouded and indistinct that he could 
neither discern its features nor trace its shape. 

“But I ask again, who are you? Are you 
spirit or woman ?” O’Donnell suddenly said ; 
and though the blood tingled in his veins, he 
made a quick step forward, and tried to grasp 
the shadowy dress. But the figure only fell a 
little back, and his fingers closed on empty 
air. 

“ I am one who has followed your family 
for generations, and who would be a friend to 
you : you need know nothing more,” the voice 
said after a moment’s silence. “ Do what I bid 
you, and it will be well for you ; but reject 
my advice and brave my sons, and not the 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


201 


destruction of your castle alone, but grief and 
misfortune will come upon you. I would save 
you from their wrath, O’Donnell. It is to 
warn and to save you that I have come.” 

“ At least, then, good lady, tell me plainly 
the thing that you would have me do,” replied 
O’Donnell bluntly. 

He was a plain, rough soldier, and the lady’s 
interest in him (if lady she were), while it 
moved him a little, puzzled him greatly too. 

“ I know of no help or advice that I need 
from living man or woman either ; but yet if 
you, who seem to belong to some other place 
than earth, know aught concerning me that 
mortal cannot know, tell it to me, if it be 
your pleasure, and let me profit by it if I may. 
Though as for this ground belonging to your 

sons ” said O’Donnell, with his blood at the 

thought beginning to grow hot again. 

“ This ground has been my sons’ for count- 
less years,” the voice interrupted him gently. 
“ Before an O’Donnell was ever born they 
reigned here as kings. They are justly enraged 
with you because, without their permission, 
you are building your house upon this land ; 
and they will throw down your work as long 
as you despise and defy them, though you 


202 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


should go on building for a hundred years. 
Therefore, O’Donnell, cease to defy them and 
the sweet voice grew plaintive and earnest. 
“ Acknowledge their sovereignty, and they will 
cease to trouble you. You are a strong man, 
and you are lord over other men like yourself ; 
but my sons are kings of the earth, and the 
water, and the air.” 

“I never heard of them,” said O’Donnell 
shortly. “ If they are mortal men ” 

“ But they &re not mortal men,” interrupted 
the voice. 

Well, O’Donnell’s mouth was closed at this, 
and he did not well know what more to say. 
He was so proud that, rather than have yielded 
an inch to any man born of woman, he w^ould 
have perished on the spot; but yielding to 
men born of women was a very different mat- 
ter — even to O’Donnell’s thinking, stiff-necked 
as he was — from yielding to invisible and 
spiritual powers. The one was a thing never 
to be done while life was left ; the other — well, 
the other was something to be considered, at 
any rate. So O’Donnell began to consider it, 
and as well as he could, in his rather agitating 
position, to revolve the question in his mind. 

The figure of the white woman was standing 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


203 


still before him. He rubbed his eyes once to 
make sure that he had not fallen asleep and 
that the whole thing was not a dream ; but 
when he opened them again she was still there, 
shadowy and pale, but yet an unmistakable 
presence full before him, in his path. Who or 
what was she ? Old tales that he had been 
familiar with as a child rose to his mind- 
ghostly old legends — weird stories that he had 
laughed at since he had grown to be a man. 
Yet what if there were truth in them ? What 
if there were truth in that about the Banshee 
of the Aileen-a-more-ban — the White-Goat Isl- 
land — the haunted island in the White-Goat 
Glen ? People said that the goats who wan- 
dered in that glen were not earthly goats at 
all, but spirits — the three sons of the Banshee 
Doona Saan. u Old foolish tales !” O’Donnell 
said to himself; and yet what if the tales were 
true ? 

“ Lady,” he said suddenly, “ tell me who you 
are. Are you Doona Saan ?” 

“ Why do you ask me ?” she answered, after 
a moment’s silence. 

“ Because,” said O’Donnell boldly, “ if you 
are Doona Saan, you are a beautiful woman, 
and O’Donnell is not so unlike other men but 


204 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


that he will do more to please a fair face than 
a foul one. Show me your face, and, if you are 
fair, I will do your bidding.” 

The figure gave a sigh, and for a few mo- 
ments did not speak; and then something 
like shadowy arms began to move behind her 
veil. 

“ I was fair enough once,” she said sadly ; 
“ what I am now I do not know, but you may 
look at me if you will.” 

She parted her veil, and turned it back ; and 
the moon shone upon a face that was colorless 
as death, but yet beautiful as a dream — a shad- 
owy, pale, motionless face, with dark, sad eyes, 
that fixed themselves upon him, and made his 
heart beat fast. 

He drew a deep breath, and before he spoke 
a minute or more had passed. 

“ Yes, you are very fair,” he said at last. 
“ And now you have my promise ; therefore, 
tell me what you would have me do.” 

“ Come with me, then,” she said to him, and 
beckoning him to follow her, she glided for- 
ward. She led him through the sleeping town 
(for it was night yet, and no one was astir) out 
to the silent country that was lying bathed in 
moonlight now, and on and on, without a word, 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


205 


by the windings of the River Eske, until she 
brought him to the White-Goat Glen. 

It was a ghostly walk, and as he followed 
at the banshee’s side, in spite of the exercise, 
O’Donnell’s blood ran somewhat cold. Was 
there treachery here ? he thought to himself 
more than once. Did this woman only seem 
to be a phantom, and was she leading him on 
where some enemy lurked in wait for him? 
He walked wearily, looking to right and left 
of him, with his hand upon the dagger at his 
side. 

But no one crossed them on their silent way, 
and when at length they reached the glen, the 
banshee paused. 

“ Now I can lead you no further,” she said. 
“ You must go forward by yourself. Go bold- 
ly, and you will find my sons.” 

“ But of what avail will that be to me, fair 
lady ?” said O’Donnell, whose temper this long 
pilgrimage had rather ruffled than improved. 
“ By my life, though you brought me here, I 
have no business with your sons !” 

“ O’Donnell,” said the phantom, “ you are a 
proud and stiff-necked man.” 

She said this and then she paused a little, 
and after that pause she stretched out her hand. 


206 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Go forward,” she said again. “ You have 
promised to do my bidding. For your own 
sake, keep to your word.” 

Well, O’Donnell could not deny that he had 
promised to do what she told him, so he gulped 
down his pride as well as he could, and 
leaving the banshee’s side, strode forward into 
the glen. It was a deep ravine, with a stream 
flowing through it, and at one part where the 
stream parted lay the little island that bore 
the name of the Aileen-a-more-ban — a lonely, 
uninhabited place. No human habitation had 
ever been built there ; only the wild goats 
haunted it — the three sons, as the legend said, 
of Doona Saan. 

O’Donnell paced on into the darkness, for 
little of the moon’s light pierced into this deep 
hollow ; and advancing slowly, for the way 
was rough, after a time he saw a white shape 
moving near him; then two — then three ♦white 
shapes. They were the wild goats, wandering 
to and fro, and grazing on the heather at their 
feet. 

“ Well, if these are spirits and kings of the 
elements, they enjoy their sovereignty after a 
singular fashion !” O’Donnell thought to him- 
self ; and the blood came suddenly to his cheek 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 207 

with shame at his own credulity ; and he de- 
spised himself so for the errand he had come 
upon that if it had not been for his promise 
to the banshee he would have turned upon his 
heel and retraced his steps. 

But he had passed his' word to her ; and, ab- 
surd as the whole business was, he said to him- 
self that he would keep it; so he took his 
stand, and cleared his throat, and lifted up his 
voice. 

“ Spirits,” he said, “ if you are spirits, be 
pleased to understand that I ask permission 
from you to build my house in the spot I have 
selected. If you have the power to grant me 
what I ask, grant it, and give me your friend- 
ship.” 

He said these words, but no answer came to 
them ; nothing followed but a dead silence. 
As far as he could perceive in the gloom, the 
white goats went on calmly grazing, taking no 
more notice of his speech than the most mun- 
dane of goats might do. “ What a fool I am !” 
O’Donnel thought angrily again to himself ; 
and now he was really on the point of turning 
back, when suddenly he saw that one of the 
goats had come close to him. With noiseless 
steps, the weird white creature came and 


208 


TUB CUCKOO CLOCK . 


passed before him, and as it passed, it bent its 
head, and the soft hair touched his hand. 
Then, each following the other, the two other 
goats drew near and did the same, and passed 
on silently out of sight. 

“ Strange !” said O’Donnell, with a hind of 
ghostly shiver; and then, when he had waited 
for a few moments longer and nothing more 
ensued, at last he did turn round and retraced 
his steps. 

He thought that the banshee had vanished, 
but this was not so, for she met him again as 
soon as he regained the point where she had 
parted from him, having apparently resolved 
not to depart until she had congratulated him 
on the accomplishment of his task. 

“ You may build in safety now !” she said to 
him at once, accosting him in quite a joyful tone. 

“ Well, as for that, the safety of my building 
has yet to be learned,” O’Donnell bluntly re- 
plied, not feeling by any means so pleased with 
the business he had just concluded as the lady 
seemed to be. “ The safety of my building 
has yet to be learned ; but at any rate I have 
done your bidding,” he said. 

“Yes, and you will not regret that you have 
done it,” she answered gently. “ You will 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 209 

not regret it,” she repeated in a sterner voice, 
“ though you do not believe what I tell you 
now, that because you have done it happiness 
and prosperity will be yours.” 

She looked at him as she said this, and 
O’Donnell at her looks felt confused ; for in- 
deed it was perfectly true that he did not be- 
lieve that any special prosperity would come 
to him on account of this night’s work, and 
yet it seemed as if it would be ungracious to 
tell the banshee so to her face. So, for a mo- 
ment or two, he was silent and looked con- 
fused, and then — for it suddenly appeared to 
him that the figure of the phantom was grow- 
ing fainter, and his heart smote him that he 
should let her depart without one word of 
gratitude from him — all at once he put his 
hand out toward her, as if to arrest her van- 
ishing, and — 

“ Fair lady,” he said, “ if you are about to 
leave me, at least do not go before you take 
my thanks. It is true, I hardly know as yet 
of what service you have been to me, but you 
have seemed to be my friend. If seeming has 
been truth, I offer you such gratitude as a man 
ought.” 

“ And what is such gratitude worth ?” the 


210 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


pliantom sadly replied. “You do not believe 
in my friendship, O’Donnell. You are a man, 
and you are hard to convince, and your grati- 
tude is an unwilling gift — so take it back. I 
will wait for a day when you shall give it 
more freely — for a day when, perhaps, you 
may have learned what you owe to Doona 
Saan.” 

“Nay, but, fair lady ” O’Donnell hurried- 

ly began but all at once, before he could say 
more, the banshee vanished. The figure sud- 
denly became formless, like a white cloud, and 
seemed to rise ; then almost in a moment more 
it had disappeared, as if it had melted into air, 
and O’Donnell was left alone, with his unspoken 
words upon his lips. 

An hour after sunrise, when the workmen 
came back, they found the chieftain at his 
post, and their yesterday’s work untouched ; 
not a stone of the wall had become displaced. 

“ Go on with your building now, and let me 
hear no more fool’s stories,” O’Donnell said 
to them sternly enough, and then he went his 
way ; and though many a whisper passed 
among them as to what had befallen him dur- 
ing those hours that he had kept watch, the 
real story of that night never became known to 
them. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


211 


But from that time forward the men worked 
undisturbed, and as days and weeks passed 
the castle walls rose higher and higher. “ He 
must have beaten the devil that night, or made 
a compact with him,” the workmen began to 
say to one another ; and as time went on, and 
not only in the building of his castle, but in all 
else that O’Donnell undertook, did he seem in 
a strange way to prosper, then they shook their 
heads and said, with more and more decision, 
“ He must have made a compact with some 
spirit to befriend him, for good-fortune flows 
in upon him like the waters of a stream.” 

But O’Donnell, you know, had made no com- 
pact with spirits either from above or below ; 
and if good-fortune came fast upon him, it was 
to nothing that he himself had done that he 
was beholden for it. Yet he knew that from 
this time good-fortune did come to him from 
every side, and often did he ponder in his 
mind whether, in truth, he owed his prosperity 
to the friendship of Doona Saan. He had not 
much desire to owe it to her, for he was a 
rough, blunt kind of man, who loved the com- 
mon, practical things of the world and cared 
to do his daily work (and it was rude enough 
work often in those old fighting days), and 


m 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


cared for little else ; but yet, whether it was 
with his will or whether it was against his 
will, his prosperity 'and the protecting nature 
of the banshee’s ghostly care tff him, soon be- 
came two facts from which he could not es- 
cape. For, after his first meeting with her, he 
saw her often ; he saw her, whether he would 
or not ; he could not be abroad after nightfall 
without feeling almost a certainty that, some- 
where or other, she would cross his path ; and 
never did she cross it but she had some good 
advice to give him, some warning to offer him, 
some help to tender to him. 

“ In truth, good lady, you take too great 
pains about my business,” O’Donnell would 
occasionally say to her ; for he was a man of 
an impatient temper, and kind though she was, 
her somewhat officious visitations had a tend- 
ency at times to irritate him. u You take too 
much trouble about my welfare. I am a rough 
man, and accustomed to push my own way in 
the world.” But though he would occasional- 
ly make some such ungracious speech as this to 
her, yet it produced but little effect upon her, 
so bent did she seem to be on serving him. 

It became, on the whole, to O’Donnell, as 
time went on, a rather embarrassing state of 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


213 


things ; for, to tell the truth, in the bottom of 
his heart he did not like banshees, and would 
rather by a great deal have had dealings with 
men and with women like himself — people who 
had warm blood in their veins — than with 
phantoms, however kind or fair ; and yet he 
was driven into having constant dealings with 
this ghostly woman, and the gratitude that she 
forced him to feel obliged him in a sort to sub- 
mit to these dealings. In fact, he could not do 
otherwise than submit to them, for she showed 
herself to be his friend in a hundred ways and 
gave better advice to him than he had ever 
been given in all his life before. He might, 
therefore, well be grateful to her. And yet he 
was a blunt, practical sort of man, and in spite 
of all his gratitude, her constant visits came in 
time to weary him. He grew tired of seeing 
her and of receiving nightly counsel from her. 
She was wiser than he was by a great deal, 
and he perceived that clearly ; she was power- 
ful, and served him faithfully ; she was true, and 
he was grateful to her ; but yet he was a strong- 
willed man, and he did not love to be meddled 
with, either by spirits or by flesh and blood. 

“ Have you learned yet to trust the ban- 
shee’s friendship ?” she would ask him some- 


214 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


times, and with all honesty and earnestness he 
would answer her that he had. But still, be- 
hind this answer, when he made it, there was 
always something more within his mind that 
he could not say, because he was ashamed — 
for he had learned, indeed, to trust the banshee, 
but he had learned to grow terribly weary of 
her too. 

So time went on, until O’Donnell had 
been in his new house for about a year. It hap- 
pened one evening at the year’s end, as he was 
returning home, that, crossing a wood not far 
from the castle, he met an old man and his 
daughter, who stopped him and prayed him 
to tell them where they were, for they were 
strangers, and had lost their way. 

“ You are far here from any house but 
mine,” O’Donnell answered them, when they 
told this story to him. “ If you are strangers, 
you are welcome to the shelter of my roof, and 
to-morrow you will tell me where you want to 
go, and I will set you on your way.” 

So they went home with him very willingly. 
The next day, however, instead of continuing 
his journey, the old gentleman professed him- 
self to be so tired and foot-sore that any further 
traveling would greatly disagree with him. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


215 


“If I might rest here for a day or two 
longer ” he began to say to O’Donnell. 

“ Good sir,” O’Donnell interrupted him, “ rest 
here while you please. The house is large 
enough to accommodate a score of travelers. 
You and your daughter are welcome to all the 
shelter it can give.” 

So upon this the old man said that he would 
stay thankfully ; and stay they did, not for a 
day or two only, but for week after week. 

He w^as a very feeble old man and seemed 
to have little strength for journeying. “If 
it had not been for your goodness, noble sir,” 
his daughter said to O’Donnell, “ I think we 
should both have perished by the wayside.” 

This daughter of the old man was a very 
beautiful young damsel, with dark bright eyes 
and silken hair, and a figure as light and grace- 
ful as a young fawn. She was gay and merry, 
and she soon made herself wonderfully at 
home in O’Donnell’s house. She was so clever 
that there seemed to be nothing that she 
could not do. She knew all about household 
matters, and could churn better butter and 
bake better bread than ever had been churned 
or baked in the castle before. She could em- 
broider wonderful designs in tapestry, and tell 


216 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


stories over her work that forced you to listen 
to them whether you would or not, they were 
so strange and beautiful ; and then she could 
sing, so that they soon began to say about the 
house she could sing the heart out of men’s 
breasts. And with all this, she w T as so bright 
and cheery that she could make friends with 
every one ; and if a cross word was said by 
anybody, she had a way of turning it into 
jest ; and if any one were dull, she seemed to 
know how to make him gay again ; and she 
had a pleasant face, and a soft voice, and a 
sweet, enticing smile for everybody, man or 
woman, in the house. She had them for 
O’Donnell, just as she had for all the rest ; and 
if she sang most to him, and laughed and talked 
with him the most, that was scarcely to be 
laid to her charge, since he encouraged her to 
do it. He was her host, and she was only a 
poor maiden resting for a little while in his 
house. “ Surely if I can give you pleasure for 
a few moments by singing you my poor songs, 
I should be but too glad to sing them,” she 
would sometimes say to him, lifting her beauti- 
ful dark eyes up to his face. 

“So you have strangers in your house?” 
Doona Saan said to O’Donnell, on the first 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


2U 

night that she saw him after the pair had es- 
tablished themselves in the castle. 

“ Yes, there are strangers in the house,” 
O’Donnell replied ; and then he told her the 
manner in which he had met the old man and 
his daughter, and how he had brought them 
home. “ They will rest here for a day or 
two,” he said, “ for the old man is very weakly, 
and hardly fit to betake himself again to the 
road.” 

Upon this the banshee looked grave and 
shook her head. 

“ See that he does not rest too long, O’Don- 
nell,” she said in a warning voice. 

“Nay, he must rest while it suits him to do 
so,” O’Donnell quickly replied ; and then he 
began to talk of something else, for there was 
something in the banshee’s tone that he did not 
like, and he felt conscious that he himself was 
not in a humor to be meddled with. 

On this occasion, therefore, nothing more 
was said between them about the old man and 
his daughter. But every time that the ban- 
shee saw O’Donnell she always met him with 
the same inquiry, “ Are the strangers with you 
yet ?” until, after this question had been put to 
him half a dozen times or more, at last he lost 
patience, and made a sharp answer to her. 


218 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


u Why do you go harping on in this way 
about the strangers ? Is my very house not 
my own ? Can I not so much as take a man 
and woman into it without your leave ?” 

Doona Saan made no answer, when he said 
this, for a few moments ; then she spoke in a 
sad, low voice. 

“ Alas ! O’Donnell, it would have been well 
for you and your house if you had never taken 
this man and woman into it. They will bring 
sore trouble on you if you do not let them 

go” 

“ I cannot turn two strangers from my 
door,” he answered angrily, “ let their staying 
bring upon me what it may.” 

He spoke hotly and almost fiercely, and 
would not listen to any further warning from 
her ; and that day — because in this matter he 
would not endure her interference — he parted 
from her with sharp and bitter words ; and his 
wrath was so great against her for what she 
had said, and for the advice that she had given 
him, that for days afterward he never saw 
her again, but purposely avoided her and gave 
himself up wholly to the delight of being with 
the stranger maiden, whose company had be- 
come by this time very sweet to the chieftain 
of the O’Donnells. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


219 


This went on for some time, until at last a 
day came when he was hurriedly returning 
home after night had fallen. Since his last 
interview with Doona Saan, he had purposely 
abstained from being out of his own castle after 
dark ; but this evening he had been detained 
late, and the sun had long set, and the stars 
had come out over the tops of Mount Erigal 
and Muckish before he turned his horse’s head 
home. 

He was riding fast as he came near Donegal, 
for he felt a strong conviction that the banshee 
would be looking out for him and would make 
an effort to stop him, and he said resolutely 
to himself that he would not be stopped ; so, 
when he neared the castle, he put spurs to his 
horse and rode on rapidly. But, determined 
as he had been to ride straight home, his de- 
termination did not avail to carry him there ; 
for suddenly out of the darkness there stole 
a white cloudy thing, and stood in his horse’s 
path. All at once the animal reared, and fell 
back almost on its haunches, trembling all over. 

“ Stand back, and let me get on !” cried 
O’Donnell, in a loud, harsh voice. 

But the banshee laid her hands upon the 
horse’s bridle, and the beast stood motionless, 
rooted to the earth like a rock. 


220 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ You are just at your castle gate, and you 
have no such pressing need to reach home. 
Pause a moment while I speak to you. Have 
you taken my warning, or despised it ? O’Don- 
nell, have the strangers gone ?” 

“ No, they have not gone !” he answered 
fiercely. 

u Alas ! you do not know what you are do- 
ing !” she cried, half-sorrowfully, half-angrily ; 
“ obstinate and blind, you are rushing on your 
ruin. Once more, before it is too late, I warn 
you, O’Donnell, if you keep that stranger wom- 
an beneath your roof you lose me. The ban- 
shee will leave you, and protect you and your 
house no more.” 

“ Little loss that,” answered he, laughing 
scornfully, and struck his horse with his whip ; 
but the animal only quivered, and did not 
move. 

O’Donnell set himself firm in his saddle, 
and raised his whip. 

“ Doona Saan, you have been my torment 
ever since I saw you. I and my household 
want your interference no more. Begone from 
my castle gate — begone, or I will drive you 
hence and seeing the figure still in its place 
at his horse’s head, he struck at it once, twice , 


THE GUGKOO GLOGK. 


221 


but the whip seemed to meet nothing save 
empty air. 

The third time he struck, adding therewith 
a great oath, there was heard a loud shriek — 
the banshee’s cry, familiar in the history of the 
O’Donnells for years and years — and the figure 
vanished. The chieftain stood in the mid- 
night moonlight before his solitary castle door. 

Next morning a shepherd coming into the 
castle declared that in the dim dawn he had 
seen a lady dressed in white sitting, weeping 
and wringing her hands, on a rock in White- 
Goat Glen ; and an hour after he had met the 
same lady going down the glen, still loudly la- 
menting, and driving before her three beauti- 
ful white goats. But when he spoke to her 
she never spoke to him ; and when she came 
to a bend in the road whence the castle could 
be seen, she turned and looked back; then 
with a loud unearthly cry she and her goats 
disappeared. 

Disappeared forever ! Doona Saan and 
her three sons from that day were neither seen 
nor heard more. 

O’Donnell married the stranger woman ; but 
she was a stranger ; and she did not under- 
stand either him or his kin — Irish kin, with 


222 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK 


the strong Irish feeling of blood and the strong 
dislike to everything foreign and different 
from itself. Consequently there were troubles 
enough within the castle, while without mis- 
fortune after misfortune came, following one 
another like waves of the sea. They beat him 
down, year after year, and made a shipwrecked 
man of him, the fierce young chieftain who had 
once been so brave and bold. 

Sometimes he thought to himself, as he grew 
old, “Doona Saan was right, after all.” But 
he never mentioned her name. 

On the night of his death some looked for 
the white figure floating outside the castle 
window, and listened for the banshee’s cry, as 
had been customary whenever an O’Donnell 
died. But nothing was heard or seen. In life 
and in death Doona Saan had forsaken him. 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


223 


THE CASTLE IN THE LOUGH. 
( A Legend of Donegal.) 


“ Father,” little Dermot would say, “tell 
me something more about the castle in the 
lough.” 

Dermot M’Swyne was a little lad, with blue 
soft eyes and bright fair hair. He was the 
only son of Brian, the chief of the M’Swynes, 
and people used sometimes to say scornfully 
that he was a poor puny son to come of such 
a father, for he was not big and burly, as a 
M’Swyne ought to be, but slim and fair, and 
like a girl. However, Brian M’Swyne loved «■ 
his fair-haired boy, and would have given 
up most other pleasures in the world for the 
pleasure of having the little fellow by his side 
and listening to his prattling voice. He was 
like his mother, those said who remembered 
the blue-eyed stranger whom Brian M’Swyne 


224 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


had brought home ten years before as his wife 
to Doe Castle, in Donegal, and who had pined 
there for a few years and then died ; and per- 
haps it was for her sake that the child was so 
dear to the rough old chief. He was never 
tired of having the little lad beside him, and 
many a time he would carry him about and 
cradle him in his arms, and pass his big fingers 
through the boy's golden curls, and let the 
little hands play with his beard. 

Sitting together in the firelight on winter 
nights, while the peat fire was burning on the 
floor, and the wind, sweeping across Lough 
Eske, went w r ailing round the castle walls and 
sighing in the leafless trees, the boy would 
often get his father to tell him stories of the 
country-side. There were many strange legends 
treasured up in the memories of all old inhab- 
itants of the place, wild stories of enchant- 
ments, or of fairies or banshees ; and little 
Dermot would never tire of listening to these 
tales. Sometimes, when he had heard some 
only half-finished story, he would go dreaming 
on and on to himself about it, till he had woven 
an ending, or a dozen endings, to it in his own 
brain. 

But of all the tales to which he used to listen 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


225 


there was one that perhaps, more than any 
other, he liked to hear — the story of the en- 
chanted castle swallowed np by Lough Bel- 
shade. There, down beneath the waters of the 
dark lough, into which he had looked so often, 
was the castle standing still, its gates and tow- 
ers and walls all perfect, just as it had stood 
upon the earth, the very fires still alight that 
had been burning on its hearths, and — more 
wonderful than all — the people who had been 
sunk in it, though fixed and motionless in their 
enchanted sleep, alive too. It was a wonder 
of wonders ; the child was never tired of 
thinking of it, and dreaming of the time in 
which the enchantment should be broken, 
and of the person who should break it ; for, 
strangest of all, the story said that they must 
sleep until a M’Swyne should come and wake 
them. But what M’Swyne would do it? 
And how was it to be done ? “ Father,” little 

Dermot would say, “ tell me something more 
about the enchanted castle in the lough.” 

The legend was thus : On the shores of the 
desolate lough there had once stood a great 
castle, where lived a beautiful maiden called 
Eileen. Her father was the chieftain of a clan, 
and she was his only child. Many young lovers 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


m 

sought her, but she cared for none of them. 
At last there came to the castle a noble-look- 
ing knight. He had traveled from a far 
country, he said, and he began soon to tell 
wonderful stories to Eileen of the beauty and 
the richness of that land of his ; how the skies 
there were always blue, and the sun always 
shone, and lords and ladies lived, not in rough 
stone-hewn castles like these, but in palaces all 
bright with marbles and precious stones ; and 
how their lives were all a long delight, with 
music and dancing and all pleasant things. 

Eileen listened while he told these tales to 
her, till she began to long to see his country ; 
and her heart yearned for something brighter 
and better than the somber life she led by the 
shores of the dark lough ; and so when, after a 
time, the knight one day told her that he loved 
her, she gave him her promise to go to his 
home with him and marry him. 

She was very contented for a little while 
after she had promised to be the knight’s wife, 
and spent nearly all her time in talking to her 
lover and in picturing to herself the new and 
beautiful things that she was going to see. 
She was very happy, on the whole ; though 
now and then, to tell the truth, as time went 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


m 


on, she began to be a little puzzled and sur- 
prised by certain things that the knight did, 
and certain odd habits that he had; for, in 
fact, he had some very odd habits, indeed, and, 
charming and handsome as he was, conducted 
himself occasionally in really quite a singular 
way. 

For instance, it was a curious fact that he 
never could bear the sight of a dog ; and if 
ever one came near him (and as there were a 
good many dogs about the castle, it was quite 
impossible to keep them from coming near 
him now and then) he would set his teeth, and 
rise slowly from his seat, and begin to make 
a low hissing noise, craning his neck forward, 
and swelling and rounding his back in such 
an extraordinary way that the first time Eileen 
saw him doing it she thought he was going to 
have a fit, and was quite alarmed. 

“ Oh, dear, I — I’m afraid you’re ill !” she ex- 
claimed, getting upon her feet and feeling very 
uneasy. 

“No, no, it’s only — it’s only — the dog,” 
gasped the knight, gripping his seat with both 
hands, as if it needed the greatest effort to 
keep himself still. “Hiss — s — s — s! I’ve 
such a terrible dislike to dogs. It’s — it’s in 


228 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


my family,” said the poor young man ; and he 
could not recover his composure at all till the 
little animal that had disturbed him was car- 
ried away. 

Then he had such a strange fashion of 
amusing himself in his own room where he 
slept. It was a spacious room, hung all round 
with arras; and often, after the household 
had gone to bed, those who slept nearest to 
the knight were awakened out of their sleep 
by the noise he made in running up and down, 
and here and there ; scudding about over the 
floor, and even — as far as could be guessed by 
the sounds — clambering up the walls, just as 
though, instead of being a gracious high-bred 
young gentleman, he had been the veriest tom- 
boy. 

“ I fear, Sir Knight, you do not always rest 
easily in your apartment,” Eileen’s old father 
said to him one morning after he had been 
making even more disturbance of this sort 
than usual. “We have rough ways here in 
the North, and perhaps the arrangement of 
your sleeping quarters is not exactly to your 
liking ?” 

But the knight, when he began to say this, 
interrupted him hastily, and declared that he 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


229 


had never slept more comfortably in any room 
in bis life, or more peacefully, be said ; be was 
seldom conscious of even so much as awaken- 
ing once. Of course, when be said tbis, Eileen 
and ber father could only open tbeir eyes, and 
come to tbe conclusion tbat tbe poor young 
knigbt was a somnambulist, and afflicted with 
the habit of running and leaping in bis sleep. 

Again, too, out-of-doors, it was very odd bow 
it affected him to bear tbe birds sing. When- 
ever they began tbeir songs, all sorts of nerv- 
ous twitcbings would come over him, and be 
would lick bis lips and make convulsive move- 
ments with bis bands ; and bis attention would 
become so distracted tbat be would quite lose 
tbe thread of bis discourse if he were talking, 
or tbe thread of Eileen’s, if she were talking to 
him. “It is because I enjoy bearing them so 
much,” be said once ; and of course when be 
said so Eileen could only believe him; yet 
she could not help wishing be would show bis 
pleasure in some other way than tbis curious 
one of setting his teeth and rolling bis eyes, 
and looking much more as if be wanted to eat 
tbe birds than to listen to them. 

Still, in spite of these and a good many 
other peculiarities, tbe young knight was very 


230 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


charming, and Eileen was very fond of him. 
They used to spend the happiest days together, 
wandering about the wild and beautiful 
country, often sitting for hours on the rocky 
shores of the dark lough, looking into the deep 
still water at their feet. It was a wild, roman- 
tic, lonely place, shut out from the sunlight by 
great granite cliffs that threw their dark weird 
shadows over it. 

“ Do you know there is a prophecy that our 
castle shall stand one day here in the middle 
of the lough ?” Eileen said, laughing, once. “ I 
don’t know how it is to be done, but we are to 
be planted somehow in the middle of the water. 
That is what the people say. I shouldn’t like 
to live here then. How gloomy it would be 
to have those great shadows always over us !” 
and the girl shivered a little, and stole her 
hand into her lover’s, and they began to talk 
about the far different place where she should 
live ; his beautiful palace, far away in the sun- 
ny country beyond the sea. She was never 
weary of hearing about the new place and 
new life that she was going to, and all the 
beauty and happiness that were going to be 
hers. 

So time went on, until at last the day be- 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


231 


fore the marriage-day came. Eileen had been 
showing her lover all her ornaments ; she had 
a great number of very precious ones, and, to 
please him and amuse herself, she had been 
putting them all on, loading herself with arm- 
lets, and bracelets, and heavy chains of gold, 
such as the old Irish princesses used to wear, 
till she looked as gorgeous as a princess her- 
self. 

It was a sunny summer day, and she sat 
thinking to herself, “ My married life will be- 
gin so soon now — the new, beautiful, strange 
life — and I will wear these ornaments in the 
midst of it ; but where everything else is so 
lovely, will he think me then as lovely as he 
does now ?” 

Presently she glanced up, with a little shy- 
ness and a little vanity, just to see if he was 
looking at and thinking of her ; but as she 
lifted up her head, instead of finding that his 
eyes were resting on her, she found- 

Well, she found that the knight was certain- 
ly not thinking of her one bit. He was sit- 
ting staring fixedly at one corner of the apart- 
ment, with his lips working in the oddest fash- 
ion ; twitching this way and that, and parting 
and showing his teeth, while he was clawing 
with his hands the chair on which he sat. 


232 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Dear me !” said Eileen rather sharply and 
pettishly, “ what is the matter with you ?” 

Eileen spoke pretty crossly ; for as she had 
on various previous occasions seen the knight 
conduct himself in this sort of way, her feeling 
was less of alarm at the sight of him than sim 
ply of annoyance that at this moment, when 
she herself had been thinking of him so ten- 
derly, he could be giving his attention to any 
other thing. “ What is the matter with you ?” 
she said ; and she raised herself in her chair 
and turned round her head to see if she could 
perceive anything worth looking at in that 
corner into which the knight was staring al- 
most as if the eyes would leap out of his head. 

“ Why, there’s nothing there but a mouse !” 
she said contemptuously, when she had looked 
and listened for a moment, and heard only a 
little faint scratching behind the tapestry. 

“ No, no, I believe not ; oh, no, nothing but 
a mouse,” replied the knight hurriedly ; but 
still he did not take his eyes from the spot, 
and he moved from side to side in his chair, 
and twitched his head from right to left, and 
looked altogether as if he hardly knew what 
he was about. 

“ And I am sure a mouse is a most harmless 
thing,” said Eileen, 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


233 


11 Harmless ? Oh ! delicious !” replied the 
knight, with so much unction that Eileen, in 
her turn, opened her eyes and stared. “ Deli- 
cious ! quite delicious !” murmured the knight 
again. 

But after a moment or two more, all at once 
he seemed to recollect himself, and made a 
great effort, and withdrew his eyes from the 
corner where the mouse was still making a little 
feeble scratching, 

“ I mean a — a most interesting animal,” 
he said. “ I have always felt with regard to 
mice ” 

But just at this instant the mouse poked out 
his little head from beneath the tapestry, and 
the knight leaped to his feet as if he was 
shot. 

“ Hiss — s — s ! skier — r — r ! hiss — s — s — s !” 
he cried ; and — could Eileen believe her eyes ? 
— for one instant she saw the knight flash past 
her, and then there was nothing living in the 
room besides her but a great black cat clinging 
by his claws half-way up the arras, and a little 
brown mouse between his teeth. 

Of course the only thing that Eileen could 
do was to faint, and so she fainted, and it was 
six hours before she came to herself again. In 


234 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


the mean time nobody in the world knew what 
had happened ; and when she opened her eyes 
and began to cry out about a terrible black 
cat, they all thought she had gone out of her 
mind. 

“ My dear child, I assure you there is no 
such thing in the house as a black cat,” her 
father said uneasily to her, trying to soothe her 
in the best way he could. 

“ Oh, yes, he turned into a black cat,” cried 
Eileen. 

“ Who turned into a black cat ?” asked her 
father. 

“ The knight did,” sobbed Eileen. 

And then the poor old father went out of 
the room, thinking that his daughter was go- 
ing mad. 

“ She is quite beside herself ; she says that 
you are not a man, but a cat,” he said sorrow- 
fully to the young knight, whom he met stand- 
ing outside his daughter’s room. “What in 
the world could have put such thoughts into 
her head ? Not a thing will she talk about 
but black cats.” 

“ Let me see her ; I will bring her to her 
right mind,” said the knight. 

“ I doubt it very much,” replied the chief ; 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


235 


but as lie did not know what else to do, he let 
him go into the room, and the knight went in 
softly and closed the door, and went up to the 
couch on which Eileen lay. She lay with her 
eyes closed, and with all her gold chains still 
upon her neck and arms ; and the knight, be- 
cause he trod softly, had come quite up to her 
side before she knew that he was there. But 
the moment she opened her eyes and saw him, 
she gave such a scream that it quite made him 
leap ; and if he had not bolted the door, every 
creature in the castle would have rushed into 
the room at the sound of it. Fortunately for 
him, however, he had bolted the door ; and as 
it was a very stout door, made of strong oak, 
Eileen might have screamed for an hour be- 
fore anybody could have burst it open. As 
soon, therefore, as the knight had recovered 
from the start she gave him, he quietly took a 
chair and sat down by her side. 

“ Eileen,” he said, beginning to speak at 
once — for probably he felt that the matter 
he had come to mention was rather a painful 
and a delicate one, and the more quickly he 
could get over what he had to say the better 
— “Eileen, you have unhappily to-day seen 
me under — ahem ! — under an unaccustomed 
shape ” 


236 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


He had only got so far as this, when Eileen 
gave another shriek and covered her face with 
her hands. 

“I say,” repeated the knight, in a tone of 
some annoyance, and raising his voice, for 
Eileen was making such a noise that it was 
really necessary to speak pretty loudly — “ I 
say you have unfortunately seen me to-day 
under a shape that you were not prepared for ; 
but I have come, my love, to assure you that 
the — the transformation — was purely accident- 
al — a mere blunder of a moment — an occur- 
rence that shall never be repeated in your 
sight. Look up to me again, Eileen, and do 
not let this eve of our marriage-day ” 

But what the knight had got to say about 
the eve of their marriage- day Eileen never 
heard, for as soon as he had reached these 
words she gave another shriek so loud that 
he jumped upon his seat. 

“ Ho you think that I will ever marry a 
black cat ?” cried Eileen, fixing her eyes with 
a look of horror on his face. 

“ Eileen, take care !” exclaimed the knight 
sternly. “ Take care how you anger me, or it 
will be the worse for you.” 

“ The worse for me ! Ho you think I am 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


237 


afraid of yon ?” said Eileen with her eyes all 
flashing, for she had a high enough spirit, and 
was not going to allow herself to be forced to 
marry a black cat, let the knight say what he 
would. She rose from her couch and would 
have sprung to the ground, if all at once the 
knight had not bent forward and taken her by 
her hand. 

“ Eileen,” said the knight, holding her fast 
and looking into her face, “ Eileen, will you be 
my wife ?” 

“ I would sooner die !” cried Eileen. 

“ Eileen,” cried the knight passionately, “ I 
love you ! Do not break your promise to me. 
Forget what you have seen. I am a power- 
ful magician. I will make you happy. I will 
give you all you want. Be my wife.” 

“ Never !” cried Eileen. 

“ Then you have sealed your fate !” exclaimed 
the knight fiercely; and suddenly he rose 
and extended his arms, and said some strange 
words that Eileen did not understand ; and all 
at once it appeared to her as if some thick 
white pall were spreading over her, and her 
eyelids began to close, and involuntarily she 
sank back. 

Once more, but as if in a dream, she heard 
the knight’s voice. 


238 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ If you do not become my wife,” be said, 
“you shall never be the wife of any living 
man. The black cat can hold his own. Sleep 
here till another lover comes to woo you.” 

A mocking laugh rang through the room — 
and then Eileen heard no more. It seemed to 
her that her life was passing away. A strange 
feeling came to her, as if she were sinking 
through the air ; there was a sound in her ears 
of rushing water ; and then all recollection 
and all consciousness ceased. 

Some travelers passing that evening by the 
lough gazed at the spot on which the castle 
had stood, and rubbed their eyes in wild sur- 
prise, for there was no castle there, but only 
a bare tract of desolate, waste ground. The 
prophecy had been fulfilled ; the castle had 
been lifted up from its foundation and sunk in 
the waters of the lough. 

This was the story that Dermot used to listen 
to as he sat in his father’s hall on winter 
nights — a wild old story, very strange, and 
sweet too, as well as strange. For they were 
living still, the legend always said — the chief 
and his household, and beautiful Eileen ; not 
dead at all, but only sleeping an enchanted 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


239 


sleep, till some one of the M’Swynes should 
come and kill the black cat who guarded 
them, and set them free. Under those dark, 
deep waters, asleep for three hundred years, 
lay Eileen, with all her massive ornaments on 
her nec\ and arms, and red-gold Irish hair. 
How often did the boy think of her, and pic- 
ture to himself the motionless face, with its 
closed, waiting eyes, and yearn to see it. 
Asleep there for three hundred years ! His 
heart used to burn at the imagination. In all 
these centuries had no M’Swyne been found 
bold enough to find the black cat and kill 
him ? Could it be so hard a thing to kill a 
black cat ? the little fellow thought. 

“ I’d kill him myself if only I had the 
chance,” he said one day ; and when he said 
that his father laughed. 

“ Ay, my lad, you might kill him if you 
had the chance — but how would you get the 
chance ?” he asked him. “ Do you think the 
magician would be fool enough to leave his 
watch over the lough and put himself in your 
way? Kill him? Yes, we could any of us 
kill him if we could catch him ; but three hun- 
dred years have passed away and nobody has 
ever caught him yet.” 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


240 

"Well, I may do it some day, when I am 
grown a man,” Dermot said. 

So he went on dreaming over the old leg 
end, and weaving out of his own brain an 
ending to it. What if it should be, indeed, his 
lot to awake Eileen from her enchanted sleep ? 
He used to wander often by the shores of the 
dark little lough and gaze into the shadowy 
waters. Many a time, too, he would sail across 
them, leaning down over his boat’s side, to try 
in vain to catch some glimpse of the buried 
castle’s walls or towers. Once or twice — it 
might have been mere fancy — it seemed to 
him as if he saw some dark thing below the 
surface, and he would cry aloud “ The cat ! 
I see the black cat !” But they only laughed 
at him when he returned home and said this. 
“ It was only a big fish at the bottom of the 
water, my boy,” his father would reply. 

When he was a boy he talked of this story 
often and was never weary of asking questions 
concerning it ; but presently, as he grew older, 
he grew more reserved and shy, and when 
he spoke about Eileen the color used to come 
into his cheek. " Why, boy, are you falling 
in love with her ?” his father said to him one 
day. “Are there not unbewitched maidens 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK 


241 


enough to please you on the face of the earth, 
but you must take a fancy to a bewitched one 
lying asleep at the bottom of the lough ?” and 
he laughed aloud at him. After that day Der- 
mot never spoke of Eileen in his father’s hear- 
ing. But although he ceased to speak of her, 
yet only the more did he think and dream 
about her ; and the older he grew, the less did 
he seem to care for any of those unbewitched 
maidens of whom his father had talked ; and 
the only maiden of whom he thought with love 
and longing was this one who lay asleep in the 
enchanted castle in the lough. 

So the years passed on, and in time Dermot’s 
father died, and the young man became chief- 
tain of his clan. He was straight and tall, 
with blue, clear eyes, and a frank, fair face. 
Some of the M’Swynes, who were a rough, 
burly race, looked scornfully on him and said 
that he was fitter to make love to ladies than 
to head men on a battle-field ; but they wronged 
him when they said that, for no braver soldier 
than Dermot had ever led their clan. He 
was both brave and gentle too, and courteous, 
and tender, and kind ; and as for being only 
fit to make love to ladies — why, making love 
to ladies was almost the only thing he never 
did. 


242 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“ Are you not going to bring borne a wife to 
tbe old house, my son ?” said his foster-mother, 
an old woman who had lived with him all her 
life. “ Before I die I'd love to dandle a child 
of yours upon my knee.” 

But Dermot only shook his head. “ My 
wife, I fear, will be hard to win. I may have 
to wait for her all my days.” And then, after 
a little while, when the old woman still went 
on talking to him, “ How can I marry when 
my love has been asleep these three hundred 
years ?” 

This was the first time that he had spoken 
about Eileen for many a day, and the old nurse 
had thought, like everybody else, that he had 
forgotten that old legend and all the foolish 
fancies of his youth. 

She was sitting at her spinning-wheel, but 
she dropped the thread and folded her hands 
sadly on her knees. 

“ My son, why think on her that’s as good 
as dead ? Even if you could win her, would 
you take a betwitched maiden to be your 
wife ?” 

It was a summer’s day, and Dermot stood 
looking far away through the sunshine toward 
where, though he could not see it, the enchanted 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


243 


castle lay. He had stood in that same place 
a thousand times, looking toward it, dreaming 
over the old tale. 

For several minutes he made no answer to 
what the old woman had said ; then all at once 
he turned round to her. 

“Nurse,” he said passionately, “I have 
adored her for twenty years. Ever since I 
first stood at your knees, and you told me of 
her, she has been the one love of my heart. 
Unless I can marry her, I will never marry 
any woman in this world.” He came to the 
old woman’s side, and though he was a full- 
grown man, he put his arms about her neck. 
“ Nurse, you have a keen woman’s wit ; can- 
not you help me with it ?” he said. “ I have 
wandered round the lough by day and night 
and challenged the magician to come and try 
his power against me, but he does not hear me, 
or he will not come. How can I reach him 
through those dark, cruel waters and force him 
to come out of them and fight with me ?” 

“ Foolish lad !” the old woman said. She 
was a wise old woman, but she believed as 
much as everybody else did in the legend of 
the castle in the lough. “ What has he to 
gain that he need come up and fight with 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


244 

you ? Do you think tlie black cat’s such a 
fool as to heed your ranting and your challeng- 
ing ?” 

“ But what else can I do ?” 

The old woman took her thread into her 
hands again, and sat spinning for two or three 
minutes without answering a word. She was 
a sensible old woman, and it seemed to her a 
sad pity that a fine young man like her foster- 
son should waste his life in pining for the love 
of a maiden who had lain asleep and enchanted 
for three hundred years. Yet the nurse loved 
him so dearly that she could not bear to cross 
him in anything, or to refuse to do anything 
that he asked. So she sat spinning and think- 
ing for a little while, and then said : 

“ It was a mouse that made him show him- 
self in his own shape first, and it’s few mice he 
can be catching, I guess, down in the bottom 
of the lough. I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll 
give you half a dozen mice in a bag to-morrow, 
and you can let them loose when you get to 
the water side, and see if that will bring him 
up.” 

Well, Dermot did not think very much of 
this plan ; but still, as he had asked the old 
woman to help him, he felt that he could not 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 245 

avoid taking her advice ; and so the next 
morning his nurse gave him a bag with half a 
dozen mice in it, and he carried it with him to 
the lough. But, alas ! as soon as ever he had 
opened the bag, all the six mice rushed away 
like lightning and were out of sight in a 
moment. 

“ That chance is soon ended,” Dermot said 
mournfully to himself ; so he took back the 
empty bag to his nurse, and told her what had 
happened. 

“You goose, why didn’t you let them out 
one by one ?” inquired she. “ Sure they would 
run when you opened the bag. You should 
have made play with them.” 

“ To be sure, so I should ; but I never 
thought of that. I’ll do better next time.” 

So next day the woman brought him the bag 
again, filled this time with fat rats, and he took 
it to the lough, and laid it down at the water 
side, and opened the mouth of it just wide 
enough for one of the rats to put out his nose ; 
and then he sat and watched, and watched, 
letting the rats run away one by one ; but 
though he sat watching for the whole day, not 
a sign did he ever see of the black cat. At 
last he came disconsolately home again, with 
the empty bag on his shoulder. 


246 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


“Never mind, my son, we’ll try something 
else to-morrow,” said nurse cheerfully. So 
next morning she brought him a fishing-rod, 
and a large piece of toasted cheese. “ Take 
this to the lough and bait your hook with it,” 
she said, “ and see if the black cat won’t come 
up and take a bite. All cats like cheese.” 

Dermot went immediately to the lough, 
baited his hook, and threw the line out into 
the water. After a few minutes his heart gave 
a great jump, for he felt a sudden pull at the 
line. He drew it in softly and cautiously ; but 
when he got it to the water’s edge there was 
nothing on his hook but a large flat fish — and 
the toasted cheese had all broken away and 
was gone. 

“What a foolish old woman, to give me 
toasted cheese to put into water !” he said to 
himself ; then he heaved a sigh, threw the fish 
into his bag, and once more went sadly away. 

“ I dare say the villain of a cat has break- 
fasted nicely off the toasted cheese without the 
trouble of coming for it,” he said bitterly, when 
he got home. 

“ Never mind ; we’ll maybe have better luck 
to-morrow,” replied the nurse. “ I dreamed a 
dream, and in the dream I thought of something 
else to do.” 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK . 24 ? 

So early next morning she brought a fat 
black pig. 

“ What in the world am I to do with this ?” 
said Dermot sharply. 

“ Ah, now, be easy, my dear,” said the old 
woman coaxingly. “ Just take it down to the 
lough and roast it there, and sure when the 
cat smells the fine smell of it he’ll come up for 
a taste.” 

Now Dermot was getting rather tired of do- 
ing all these odd things ; and though he had 
readily gone to the lough with the mice and 
the rats and the toasted cheese, yet he did not 
at all relish the notion of carrying a live pig 
across the country with him for two or three 
miles. However, he was very good-natured,, 
and so, although he did not himself think that 
any good would come of it, after a little while 
he let his nurse persuade him to take the pig. 
The old woman tied a string about its leg, and 
he took it to the lough, and as soon as he got 
there he collected some sticks and peat together 
and, building up a good big pile, set light to it. 
Then he killed the pig with his hunting-knife 
and hung it up before the fire to roast. Pres 
ently a most savory smell began to fill the air 

Dermot withdrew a little way, sat down be 


248 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


hind a jutting piece of rock, and watched, his 
eyes never leaving the smooth surface of the 
lough ; but minute after minute passed and 
not the slightest movement stirred it. From 
time to time he made up his fire afresh, and 
turned his pig from side to side. The whole 
air around grew full of the smell of roasting 
meat, so savory that, being hungry, it made 
Dermot’s own mouth water; but still — there 
lay the lough, quiet and smooth, and undis- 
turbed as glass, with only the dark shadows 
of the silent rocks lying across it. 

At last the pig was cooked and ready, and 
Dermot rose and drew it from the fire. 

“ I may as well make my own dinner off 
it,” he thought sorrowfully to himself, “ for 
nobody else will come to have a share of it.” 
So he took his knife and cut himself a juicy 
slice, and sat down again, concealing himself 
behind the rock, with his bow and arrow by 
his side, and had just lifted the first morsel to 
his lips, when — 

Down fell the untasted meat upon the 
ground, and his heart leaped to his lips, for 
surely something at last was stirring the wa- 
ters ! The oily surface had broken into circles ; 
there was a movement, a little splash, a sud- 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK . 


249 


den vision of something black. A moment or 
two he sat breathlessly gazing ; and then — 
was he asleep, or was he waking, and really 
saw it ? — he saw above the water a black cat’s 
head. Black head, black paws put out to 
swim, black back, black tail. 

Dermot took his bow up in his hand, and 
tried to fit an arrow to it ; but his hand shook, 
and for a few moments he could not draw. 
Slowly the creature swam to the water’s edge, 
and, reaching it, planted its feet upon the earth, 
and looked warily, with green, watchful eye, all 
round ; then, shaking itself — and the water 
seemed to glide off its black fur as off a duck’s 
back — it licked its lips, and, giving one great 
sweep into the air, it bounded forward to 
where the roasted pig was smoking on the 
ground. For a moment Dermot saw it, with 
its tail high in the air and its tongue stretched 
out to lick the crackling ; and then, sharp and 
sure, whiz ! went an arrow from his bow ; 
and the next moment, stretched flat upon the 
ground, after one great dismal howl, lay the 
man-cat, or cat-man, with an arrow in his heart. 

Dermot sprang to his feet, and, rushing to 
the creature’s side, caught him by the throat ; 
but he was dead already ; only the great, wide- 


250 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


opened, green, fierce eyes seemed to shoot out an 
almost human look of hatred and despair, before 
they closed forever. The young chieftain took 
up the beast, looked at it, and with all his might 
flung it from him into the lough ; then turning 
round, he stretched his arms out passionately. 

“ Eileen ! Eileen !” he cried aloud ; and as 
though that word had broken the spell, all at 
once — oh, wonderful sight ! — the enchanted 
castle began to rise. Higher it rose and high- 
er ; one little turret first ; then pinnacles and 
tower and roof ; then strong stone walls ; un- 
til, complete, it stood upon the surface of the 
lough like a strange floating ship. And then 
slowly and gently it drifted to the shore, and 
rising at the water’s edge, glided a little 
through the air, and sank at last upon the 
earth, fixing itself firmly down once more 
where it had stood of old, as if its foundations 
never had been stirred through the whole of 
those three hundred years. 

With his heart beating fast, Dernlot stood 
gazing as if he could never cease to gaze. It 
was a lovely summer day, and all the land- 
scape round him was bathed in sunlight. The 
radiance shone all over the gray castle walls 
and made each leaf on every tree a golden 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


251 


glory. It shone on bright flowers blooming 
in the castle garden ; it shone on human fig 
ures that began to live and move. Breathless 
and motionless, Dermot watched them. He 
was not close to them, but near enough to see 
them in their strange quaint dresses, passing 
to and fro, like figures that had started from 
some painted picture of a by-gone age. The 
place grew full of them. They poured out 
from the castle gates ; they gathered into 
groups ; they spread themselves abroad ; they 
streamed out from the castle right and left. 
Did they know that they had been asleep? 
Apparently not, for each man went on with 
his natural occupation, as if he had but paused 
over it a minute to take breath. A hum of 
voices filled the air ; Dermot heard strange ac- 
cents, almost like those of an unknown tongue, 
mingled with the sound of laughter. Three 
hundred years had passed away, and yet they 
did not seem to know it ; busily they went 
about their sports or labors — as calmly and 
unconsciously as if they never had been inter- 
rupted for an hour. 

And, in the midst of all, where was Eileen ? 
The young chieftain stood looking at the 
strange scene before him, with his heart beat- 


252 


THE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


ing high and fast. He had killed the cat, he 
had broken the enchantment, he had awakened 
the castle from its sleep, but what was to come 
next ? Did the prophecy, which said that a 
M’Swyne should do this, say also that, for 
doing it, he should be given a reward ? 

Nay, it said nothing more. The rest was 
all a blank. But was there, then, to be no re- 
ward for him? Dermot stood suddenly erect 
and crushed down a certain faintness that had 
been rising in his heart. The prophecy, indeed, 
said nothing, but he would carve out the rest 
of his destiny for himself. 

And so he carved it out. He went straight 
through the unknown people to the castle 
garden and found — was it what he sought ? 
He found a lady gathering flowers — a lady in 
a rich dress, with golden armlets, bracelets, and 
head-ornaments — such as are now only discov- 
ered in tombs. But she was not dead; she 
was alive and young. For she turned round, 
and, after his life’s patient waiting, Dermot 
saw Eileen’s face. 

And then — what more? Well, need I tell 
the rest ? What ending could the story have 
but one ? Of course he made her love him, 


TEE CUCKOO CLOCK. 


253 


and they married, and lived, and died. That 
was the whole. They were probably happy — 
I do not know. You may see the little lough 
still in that wild country of Donegal, and the 
deep dark waters that hid the enchanted castle 
beneath them for so many years. As for the 
castle itself — that, I think, has crumbled away ; 
and the whole story is only a story legend — one 
of the pretty, foolish legends of the old times. 






















A, L. Burt's Catalogue of Books for 
Young People by Popular Writers, 52- 
58 Duane Street, New York ns n? ^ 


BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. By Lewis Carroll. 

12mo, cloth, 42 illustrations, price 75 cents. 

“From first to last, almost without exception, this story is delightfully 
droll, humorous and illustrated in harmony with the story.’’ — New York 
Express. 

Through the Looking Glass, and What Alice Found 

There. By Lewis Carroll. 12mo, cloth, 50 illustrations, price 75 cents. 
“A delight alike to the young people and their elders, extremely funny 
both in text and illustrations.” — Boston Express. 

Little Lucy’s Wonderful Globe. By Charlotte M. 

Yonge. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“This story is unique among tales intended for children, alike for pleas- 
ant instruction, quaintness of humor, gentle pathos, and the subtlety with 
which lessons moral and otherwise are conveyed to children, and perhaps 
to their seniors as well.” — The Spectator. 

Joan’s Adventures at the North Pole and Elsewhere. 

By Alice Corkran. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“Wonderful as the adventures of Joan are, it must be admitted that 
they are very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented. Alto- 
gether this is an excellent story for girls.” — Saturday Review. 

Count Up the Sunny Days : A Story for Girls and Boys. 

By C. A. Jones. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“An unusually good children’s story.” — Glasgow Herald. 

The Dove in the Eagle’s Nest. By Charlotte M. 

Yonge. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ 1 - 00 . 

“Among all the modern writers we believe Miss Yonge first, not in 
genius, but in this, that she employs her great abilities for a high and 
noble purpose. We know of few modern writers whose works may be so 
safely commended as hers.” — Cleveland Times. 

Jan of the Windmill. A Story of the Plains. By Mrs. 

J. H. Ewing. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“Never has Mrs. Ewing published a more charming volume, and that 
is saying a very great deal. From the first to the last the book over- 
flows with the strange knowledge of child-nature which so rarely sur- 
vives childhood: and" moreover, with inexhaustible quiet humor, which 
is never anything but innocent and well-bred, never priggish, and never 
clumsy. ’ ’ — Academy. 

A Sweet Girl Graduate. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, cloth, 

illustrated, price $1.00. 

“One of this popular author’s best. The characters are well imagined 
and drawn. The story moves with plenty of spirit and the interest does 
not flag until the end too qui ckly comes.” — Providence Journal. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 

publisher, A.‘ L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York. 


2 A. L. BURT^S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Six to Sixteen: A Story for Girls. By Juliana 

Horatia Ewing. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“There is no doubt as to the good quality and attractiveness of ‘Six to 
Sixteen.’ The book is one which would enrich any girl’s book shelf.” — 
St. James’ Gazette. 

The Palace Beautiful: A Story for Girls. By L. T. 

Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“A bright and interesting story. The many admirers of Mrs. L. T. 
Meade in this country will be delighted with the ‘Palace Beautiful’ for 
more reasons than one. It is a charming book for girls.” — New York 
Recorder. 

A World of Girls: The Story of a School. By L. T. 

Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“One of those wholesome stories which it does one good to read. It 
will afford pure delight to numerous readers. This book should be on 
every girl’s book shelf.” — Boston Home Journal. 

The Lady of the Forest: A Story for Girls. By L. T. 

Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“This story is written in the author’s well-known, fresh and easy style. 
All girls fond of reading will he charmed by this well-written story. It 
is told with the author’s customary grace and spirit.” — Boston Times. 

At the Back of the North Wind. By George Mac- 

donald. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“A very pretty story, with much of the freshness and vigor of Mr. Mac- 
donald’s earlier work. . . . It is a sweet, earnest, and wholesome fairy 

story, and the quaint native humor is delightful. A most delightful vol- 
ume for young readers.” — Philadelphia Times. 

The Water Babies: A Fairy Tale for a Land Baby. 

By Charles Kingsley. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“The strength of his work, as well as its peculiar charms, consist in 
his description of the experiences of a youth with life under water in the 
luxuriant wealth of which he revels with all the ardor of a poetical na- 
ture.”— New York Tribune. 

Our Bessie. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, illus- 

strated, price $1.00. 

“One of the most entertaining stories of the season, full of vigorous 
action, and strong in character-painting. Elder girls will be charmed with 
it, and adults may read its pages with profit.” — The Teachers’ Aid. 

Wild Kitty. A Story of Middleton School. By L. T. 

Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“Kitty is a true heroine — warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all 
good women nowadays are, largely touched with the enthusiasm of human- 
ity. One of the most attractive gift hooks of the season.” — The Academy. 

A Young Mutineer. A Story for Girls. By L. T. 

Meade. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“One of Mrs. Meade’s charming books for girls, narrated in that simple 
and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first among 
writers for young people.” — The Spectator. 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of 

publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York. 


price by the 


A. L. BURT^S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 3 


BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Sue and I. By Mrs. O'Reilly. 12mo, cloth, illus- 

trated, price 75 cents. 

“A thoroughly delightful book, full of sound wisdom as well as fun.” — 
Athenaeum. 

The Princess and the Goblin. A Fairy Story. By 

George Macdonald. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“If a child once begins this book, it will get so deeply interested in 
it that when bedtime comes it will altogether forget the moral, and will 
weary its parents with importunities for just a few minutes more to see 
how everything ends.” — Saturday Review. 

Pythia’s Pupils: A Story of a School. By Eva 

Hartner. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price St .00. 

“This story of the doings of several bright school girls is sure to interest 
girl readers. Among many good stories for girls this is undoubtedly one 
of the very best.” — Teachers’ Aid. 

A Story of a Short Life. By J uliana Horatia Ewing. 

12mc, cloth, illustrated, price Si. 00. 

“The book is one we can heartily recommend, for it is not only bright 
and interesting, but also pure and healthy in tone and teaching.” — 
Courier. 

The Sleepy King 1 . A Fairy Tale. By Aubrey Hop- 

wood and Seymour Hicks. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

‘‘Wonderful as the adventures of Bluebell are, it must be admitted that 
they are very naturally worked out and very plausibly presented. 
Altogether this is an excellent story for girls.” — Saturday Review. 

Two Little Waifs. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

‘‘Mrs. Molesworth’s delightful story of ‘Two Little Waifs’ will charm 
all the small people who find it in their stockings. It relates the ad- 
ventures of two lovable English children lost in Paris, and is just wonder- 
ful enough to pleasantly wring the youthful heart.” — New York Tribune. 

Adventures in Toyland. By Edith King Hall. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

‘‘The author is such a bright, cheery writer, that her stories are 
always acceptable to all who are not confirmed cynics, and her record of 
the adventures is as entertaining and enjoyable as we might expect.” — 
Boston Courier. 

Adventures in .Wallypug Land. By G. E. Farrow. 

12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

‘‘These adventures are simply inimitable, and will delight boys and girls 
of mature age, as well as their juniors. No happier combination of 
author and artist than this volume presents could be found to furnish 
healthy amusement to the young folks. The book is an artistic one in 
every sense.” — Toronto Mail. 

Fussbudget’s Folks. A Story for Young Girls. By 

Anna F. Burnham. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

‘‘Mrs. Burnham has a rare gift for composing stories for children. With 
a light, yet forcible touch, she paints sweet and artless, yet natural and 
strong, characters. ’ ’ — Congregationalism _ 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 
publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York, 


4 A. L. BURIES BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Mixed Pickles. A Story for Girls. By Mrs. E. M. 

Field. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“It is, in its way, a little classic, of which the real beauty and pathos 
can hardly be appreciated by young people. It is not too much to say 
of the story that it is perfect of its kind.” — Good Literature. 

Miss Mouse and Her Boys. A Story for Girls. By 

Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“Mrs. Molesworth’s books are cheery, wholesome, and particularly well 
adapted to refined life. It is safe to add that she is the best English prose 
writer for children. A new volume from Mrs. Molesworth is always a 
treat.” — The Beacon. 

Gilly Flower. A Story for Girls. By the author of 

“ Miss Toosey’s Mission.” 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“Jill is a little guardian angel to three lively brothers who tease and 
play with her. . . . Her unconscious goodness brings right thoughts 

and resolves to several persons who come into contact with her. There is 
no goodiness in this tale, but its influence is of the best kind.” — Literary 
World. 

The Chaplet of Pearls ; or, The White and Black Ribau- 

mont. By Charlotte M. Yonge. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 
“Full of spirit and life, so well sustained throughout that grown-up 
readers may enjoy it as much as children. It is one of the best books of 
the season.” — Guardian. 

Haughty Miss Bunny: Her Tricks and Troubles. By 

Clara Mulholland. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“The naughty child is positively delightful. Papas should not omit the 
book from their list of juvenile presents.” — Land and Water. 

Meg’s Friend. By Alice Corkran\ 12mo, cloth, 

illustrated, price $1.00. 

“One of Miss Corkran’s charming books for girls, narrated in that simple 
and picturesque style which marks the authoress as one of the first among 
writers for young people.” — The Spectator. 

Averil. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, 

price $1.00. 

“A charming story for young folks. Averil is a delightful creature — 
piquant, tender, and true — and her varying fortunes are perfectly real- 
istic.” — World. 

Aunt Diana. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, illus- 

trated, price $1.00. 

“An excellent story, the interest being sustained from first to last. 
This is, both in its intention and the way the story is told, one of the 
best books of its kind which has come before us this year.” — Saturday 
Review. 

Little Sunshine’s Holiday: A Picture from Life. By 

Miss Mulock. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“This is a pretty narrative of child life, describing the simple doings 
and sayings of a very charming and rather precocious child. This is a 
delightful book for young people.” — Gazette. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 

publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York, 


A. L. BURT^S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 5 

BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Esther’s Charge. A Story for Girls. By Ellen Everett 

Green. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

• . • • This is a story showing in a charming way how one little 

girl’s jealousy and bad temper were conquered; one of the best, most 
suggestive and improving of the Christmas juveniles.” — New York Trib- 
une. 

Fairy Land of Science. By Arabella B. Buckley. 

12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

‘‘We can highly recommend it; not only for the valuable information 
it gives on the special subjects to which it is dedicated, but also as a 
book teaching natural sciences in an interesting way. A fascinating 
little volume, which will make friends in every household in which there 
a-re children.” — Daily News. 

Merle’s Crusade. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, cloth, 

illustrated, price $1.00. 

"Among the books for young people we have seen nothing more unique 
than this book. Like all of this author’s stories it will please young read- 
ers by the very attractive and charming style in which it is written.” — 
Journal. 

Birdie: A Tale of Child Life. By H. L. Childe- 

Pemberton. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

‘‘The story is quaint and simple, but there is a freshness about it 
that makes one hear again the ringing laugh and the cheery shout of chil- 
dren at play which charmed his earlier years.” — New York Express. 

The Days of Bruce: A Story from Scottish History. 

By Grace Aguilar. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“There is a delightful freshness, sincerity and vivacity about all of Grace 
Aguilar’s stories which cannot fail to win the interest and admiration of 
every lover of good reading.”— Boston Beacon. 

Three Bright Girls : A Story of Chance and Mischance. 

By Annie E. Armstrong. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

‘‘The charm of the story lies in the cheery helpfulness of spirit devel- 
oped in the girls by their changed circumstances; while the author finds 
a pleasant ending to all their happy makeshifts. The story is charmingly 
told, and the book can be warmly recommended as a present for girls.” — 
Standard. 

Giannetta : A Girl’s Story of Herself. By Rosa Mul- 

hollandi l2mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

‘‘Extremely well told and full of Interest. Giannetta is a true -heroine— 
warm-hearted, self-sacrificing, and, as all good women nowadays are, 
largely touched with enthusiasm of humanity. The illustrations are un- 
usually good. One of the most attractive gift books of the season.” — Thw 
Academy. 

Margery Merton’s Girlhood. By Alice Corkran. 

12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

‘‘The experiences of an orphan girl who in infancy is left by her 
father to the care of an elderly aunt residing near Paris. The accounts 
of the various persons who have an after influence on the story are sin- 
gularly vivid. There is a subtle attraction about the book which will make 
it a great favorite with thoughtful girls.” — Saturday Review. 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 

publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York, 


0 A. L. BURT^S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE, 


BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Under False Colors: A Story from Two Girls’ Lives. 

By Sarah Doudney. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $ 1 . 00 . 

“Sarah Doudney has no superior as a writer of high-toned stories — pure 
in style, original in conception, and with skillfully wrought out plots; but 
we have seen nothing equal in dramatic energy to this book.” — Christian 
Leader. 

Down the Snow Stairs; or, From Good-night to Good- 

morning. By Alice Corkra.v. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“Among all the Christmas volumes which the year has brought to our 
table this one stands out facile princeps — a gem of the first wa-ter, bearing 
upon every one of its pages the signet mark of genius. . . . All is told 

with such simplicity and perfect naturalness that the dream appears to be 
a solid reality. It is indeed a Little Pilgrim’s Progress.” — Christian 
Leader. 

The Tapestry Room: A Child’s Romance. By Mrs. 

Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“Mrs. Molesworth is a charming painter of the nature and ways of 
children; and she has done good service in giving us this charming 
juvenile which will delight the young people.” — Athenaeum, London. 

Little Miss Peggy: Only a Nursery Story. By Mrs. 

Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

Mrs. Molesworth’s children are finished studies. A joyous earnest spirit 
pervades her work, and her sympathy is unbounded. She loves them 
with her whole heart, while she lays bare their little minds, and expresses 
their foibles, their faults, their virtues, their inward struggles, their 
conception of duty, and their instinctive knowledge of the right and wrong 
of things. She knows their characters, she understands their wants, 
and she desires to help them. 

Polly: A New Fashioned Girl. By L. T. Meade. 

12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1 .00. 

Few authors have achieved a popularity equal to Mrs. Meade as a 
writer of stories for young girls. Her characters are living beings of 
flesh and blood, not lay figures of conventional type. Into the trials 
and crosses, and everyday experiences, the reader enters at once with zest 
and hearty sympathy. While Mrs. Meade always writes with a high 
moral purpose, her lessons of life, purity and nobility of character are 
rather inculcated by example than intruded as sermons. 

One of a Covey. By the author of “Miss Toosey’s 

Mission.” 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“Full of spirit and life, so well sustained throughout that grown-up 
readers may enjoy it as much as children. This ‘Covey’ consists of the 
twelve children of a hard-pressed Dr. Partridge out of which is chosen a 
little girl to be adopted by a spoiled, fine lady. We have rarely read 
a story for hoys and girls with greater pleasure. One of the chief char- 
acters would not have disgraced Dickens’ pen.” — Literary World. 

The Little Princess of Tower Hill. By L. T. Meade. 

12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“This is one of the prettiest hooks for children published, as pretty 
as a pond-lily, and quite as fragrant. Nothing could be imagined more 
attractive to young people than such a combination of fresh pages and 
fair pictures; and while children will rejoice over it — which is much 
better than crying for it — it is a book that can be read with pleasure 
even by older boys and girls.”- — Boston Advertiser. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 
publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York. 


A. L. BURT*S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 7 


BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Rosy. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, 

price 75 cents. 

5 Mrs. Molesworth, considering the quality and quantity of her labors, 
is the best story-teller for children England has yet known. 

“This is a very pretty story. The writer knows children, and their 
ways well. The illustrations are exceedingly weli drawn.” — Spectator. 

Esther : A Book for Girls. By Rosa N. Carey. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“She inspires her readers simply by bringing them in contact with the 
characters, who are in themselves inspiring. Her simple stories are woven 
in order to give her an opportunity to describe her characters by their own 
conduct in seasons of trial.” — Chicago Times. 

Sweet Content. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, cloth, 

illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“It seems to me not at all easier to draw a lifelike child than to draw 
a lifelike man or woman: Shakespeare and Webster were the only two 
men of their age who could do it with perfect delicacy and success. 
Our own age is more fortunate, on this single score at least, having a 
larger and far nobler proportion of female writers; among whom, since 
the death of George Eliot, there is none left whose touch is so exquisite 
and masterly, whose love is so thoroughly according to knowledge, whose 
bright and sweet invention is so fruitful, so truthful, or so delightful as 
Mrs. Molesworth’s.” — A. C. Swinbourne. 

Honor Bright ; or, The Four-Leaved Shamrock. By the 

author of “ Miss Toosey’s Mission.” 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“It requires a special talent to describe the sayings and doings of 
children, and the author of ‘Honor Bright,’ ‘One of a Covey,’ possesses that 
talent in no small degree. A cheery, sensible, and healthy tale.” — The 
Times. 

The Cuckoo Clock. By Mrs. Molesworth. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“A beautiful little story. It will be read with delight by every child 
into whose hands it is placed. . . . The author deserves all the praise 

that has been, is, and will be bestowed on ‘The Cuckoo Clock.’ Children’s 
stories are plentiful, but one like this is not to be met with every day.” — 
Pall Mall Gazette. 

The Adventures of a Brownie. As Told to my Child. 

By Miss Mulock. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“The author of this delightful little book leaves it in doubt all through 
W’hetber there actually is such a creature in existence as a Brownie, but 
she makes us hope that there might be.” — Chicago Standard. 

Only a Girl: A Tale of Brittany. From the French 

by C. A. Jones. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“We can thoroughly recommend this brightly written and homely nar- 
rative.”' — Saturday Review. 

Little Rosebud; or, Things Will Take a Turn. By 

Beatrice Harraden. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“A most delightful little book. . . . Miss narraden is so bright, so 

healthy, and so natural withal that the book ought, as a matter of duty, 
to be added to every girl’s library in the land.” — Boston Transcript. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 
publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York. 


8 A. L. burt\s books for young people 


BOOKS FOR GIRLS. 

Girl Neighbors; or, The Old Fashion and the New. By 

Sarah Tytler. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“One of the most effective and quietly humorous of Miss Tytler’s stories. 
‘Girl Neighbors’ is a pleasant comedy, not so much of errors as of preju- 
dices got rid of, very healthy, very agreeable, and very well written.” — 
Spectator. 

The Little Lame Prince and His Traveling Cloak. By 

Miss Mulock. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“No sweeter — that is the proper word — Christmas story for the little 
folks could easily be found, and it is as delightful for older readers as 
well. There is a moral to it which the reader can find out for himself, if 
he chooses to think.” — Cleveland Herald. 

Little Miss Joy. By Emma Marshall. 12mo, cloth, 

illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“A very pleasant and instructive story, told by a very charming writer 
in such an attractive way as to win favor among its young readers. The 
illustrations add to the beauty of the book.” — Utica Herald. 

The House that Grew. A Girl’s Story. By Mrs. Moles- 

worth. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“This is a very pretty story of English life. Mrs. Moleswortb is one 
of the most popular and charming of English story-writers for children. 
Her child characters are true to life, always natural and attractive, 
and her stories are wholesome and interesting.” — Indianapolis Journal. 

The House of Surprises. By L. T. Meade. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“A charming tale of charming children, who are naughty enough to be 
interesting, and natural enough to be lovable; and very prettily their story 
is told. The quaintest yet most natural stories of child life. Simply 
delightful.” — Vanity Fair. 

The Jolly Ten: and their Year of Stories. By Agnes 

Carr Sage. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

The story of a band of cousins who were accustomed to meet at the 
“Pinery,” with “Aunt Roxy.” At her fireside they play merry games, 
have suppers flavored with innocent fun, and listen to stories — each with 
its lesson calculated to make the ten not less jolly, but quickly re- 
sponsive to the calls of duty and to the needs of others. 

Little Miss Dorothy. The Wonderful Adventures of 

Two Little People. By Martha James. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75c. 

“This is a charming little juvenile story from the pen of Mrs. James, 
detailing the various adventures of a couple of young children. Their 
many adventures are told in a charming manner, and the book will 
please young girls and boys.” — Montreal Star. 

Pen’s Venture. A Story for Girls. By Elvirton 

Wright. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

Something Pen saw in the condition of the cash girls in a certain store 
gave her a thought; the thought became a plan; the plan became a ven- 
ture — Pen’s venture. It is amusing, touching, and instructive to read about 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent 

publisher, A, L. BURT, 52-58 Duane 


postpaid on receipt of price by the 

Street, New York. 


A. L. BURT'S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 9 


FAIRY BOOKS. 

The Blue Fairy Book. Edited by Andrew Lang. Pro- 

fusely illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. 

“The tales are simply delightful. No amount of description can do 
them justice. The only way is to read the book through from cover to 
cover.’’ — Book Review. 

The Green Fairy Book. Edited by Andrew Lang. 

Profusely illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. 

“The most delightful book of fairy tales, taking form and contents to- 
gether, ever presented to children.’’ — E. S. Hartland, in Folk-Lore. 

The Yellow Fairy Book. Edited by Andrew Lang. 

Profusely illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.00. 

“As a collection of fairy tales to delight children of all ages, it ranks 
second to none.’’ — Daily Graphic. 

The Red Fairy Book. Edited by Andrew Lang. Pro- 

fusely illustrated, 12mo, cloth, price $1.10. 

“A gift-book that will charm any child, and all older folk, who have 
been fortunate enough to retain their taste for the old nursery stories.’’ — 
Literary World. 

Celtic Fairy Tales. Edited by Joseph Jacobs. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“A stock of delightful little narratives gathered chiefly from the Celtic- 
speaking peasants of Ireland. A perfectly lovely book. And oh! the 
wonderful pictures inside. Get this book if you can; it is capital, all 
through.” — Pall Mall Budget. 

English Fairy Tales. Edited by Joseph Jacobs. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“The tales are simply delightful. No amount of description can do 
them justice. The only way is to read the book through from cover to 
cover. The book is intended to correspond to ‘Grimm’s Fairy Tales,’ 
and it must be allowed that its pages fairly rival in interest those of 
that well-known repository of folk-lore.” — Morning Herald. 

Indian Fairy Tales. Edited by Joseph Jacobs. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“Mr. Jacobs brings home to us in a clear and intelligible manner the 
enormous influence which ‘Indian Fairy Tales’ have had upon European 
literature of the kind. The present combination will be welcomed not 
alone by the little ones for whom it is specially combined, but also by 
children of larger growth and added years.” — Daily Telegraph. 

Household Fairy Tales. By the Brothers Grimm. 

12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“As a collection of fairy tales to delight children of all ages this 
work ranks second to none.”— Daily Graphic. 

Fairy Tales and Stories. By Hans Christian Ander- 

sen. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“If I were asked to select a child’s library I should name these three 
volumes, ‘English,’ ‘Celtic,’ and ‘Indian Fairy Tales,’ with Grimm and 
Hans Andersen’s Fairy Tales.” — Independent. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 
publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York, 


10 a. l. Burt’s books for young people, 


FAIRY BOOKS. 

Popular Fairy Tales. By the Bkothebs Grimm. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price $1. 00. 

“From first to last, almost without exception, these stories are delight- 
ful.” — Athenaeum. 

Icelandic Fairy Tales. By A. W. Hall. 12mo, cloth, 

illustrated, price SI. 00. 

“The most delightful book of fairy tales, taking form and contents to- 
gether, ever presented to children. The whole collection is dramatic and 
humorous. A more desirable child’s book has not been seen for many a 
day.” — Daily News. 

Fairy Tales From the Far North. (Norwegian.) By 

P. C. Asbjornsen. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price SI. 00. 

“If we were asked what present would make a child happiest at Christ- 
mastide we think we could with a clear conscience point to Mr. Jacobs’ 
book. It is a dainty and an interesting volume.” — Notes and Queries. 

Cossack Fairy Tales. By R. Nisbet Bain. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price $1-00. 

“A really valuable and curious selection which will be welcomed by 
readers of all ages. . . . The illustrations by Mr. Batten are often 
clever and irresistibly humorous. A delight alike to the young people 
and their elders.” — Globe. 

The Golden Fairy Book. By Various Authors. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“The most delightful book of its kind that has come in our way for 
many a day. It is brimful of pretty stories. Retold in a truly deightful 
manner. ’ ’ — Graphic. 

The Silver Fairy Book. By Various Authors. 12mo, 

cloth, illustrated, price $1.00. 

“The book is intended to correspond to ‘Grimm’s Fairy Tales,’ and it 
must be allowed that its pages fairly rival in interest those of the well- 
known repository of folk-lore. It is a most delightful volume of fairy 
tales.” — Courier. 

The Brownies, and Other Stories. By Juliana Horatia 

Ewing. 12ino, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“Like all the books she has written this one is very charming, and 
is worth more in the hands of a child than a score of other stories of a 
more sensational character.” — Christian at Work. 

The Hunting of the Snark. An Agony in Eight Fits. 

By Lewis Carroll, author of “Alice in Wonderland.” 12mo, cloth, illus- 
trated, price 75 cents. 

“This glorious piece of nonsense. . . . Everybody ought to read it 

— nearly everybody will — and all who deserve the treat will scream with 
laughter. ’ ’ — Graphic. 

Lob Lie-By-the-fire, and Other Tales. By Juliana 

Horatio Ewing. 12mo, cloth, illustrated, price 75 cents. 

“Mrs. Ewing has written as good a story as her ‘Brownies,’ and that 
is saying a great deal. ‘Lob Lie-by-the-fire’ has humor and pathos, and 
teaches what is right without making children think they are reading a 
sermo n.” — Saturday Review. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 
publisher, A. L. BVRT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York, 


A. L. BURT'S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE. 11 


BOOKS FOR BOYS. 

By Right of Conquest; or, With Cortez in Mexico. 

By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by W. S. Stacey. 12mo, cloth, 
olivine edges, price $1.50. 

“The conquest of Mexico by a small band of resolute men under the 
magnificent leadership of Cortez is always rightfully ranked among the 
most romantic and daring exploits in history. ‘By Right of Conquest’ 
is the nearest approach to a perfectly successful historical tale that 
Mr. Henty has yet published.” — Academy. 

For Name and Fame; or, Through Afghan Passes, 

By G, A. Henty. With illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12niOj cloth, 
olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“Not only a rousing story, replete with all the varied forms of excite- 
ment of a campaign, but, what is still more useful, an account of a 
territory and its inhabitants which must for a long time possess a supreme 
interest for Englishmen, as being the key to our Indian Empire.” — 
Glasgow Herald. 

The Bravest of the Brave; or, With Peterborough in 

Spain. By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by H. M. Paget. 12mo 
cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“Mr. Henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work — to 
enforce the doctrine of courage and truth, mercy and loving kindness, 
as indispensable to the making of a gentleman. Boys will read ‘The 
Bravest of the Brave’ with pleasure and profit; of that we are quite 
sure.” — Daily Telegraph. 

The Cat of Bubastes : A Story of Ancient Egypt. By 

G. A. Henty. With illustrations. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 
“The story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred cat 
to the perilous exodus into Asia with which it closes, is very skillfully 
constructed and full of exciting adventures. It is admirably illustrated.” 
— Saturday Review. 

Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Cul- 

loden. By G. A. Henty, With illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, 
cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“Ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of ‘Quentin Durward.’ The 
lad’s journey across France, and his hairbreadth escapes, makes up as 
good a narrative of the kind as we have ever read. For freshness of 
treatment and variety of incident Mr. Henty has surpassed himself.” — 
Spectator. 

With Clive in India; or, The Beginnings of an Empire. 

By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, 
olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“He has taken a period of Indian history of the most vital impor- 
tance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a story which of 
itself is deeply interesting. Young people assuredly will be delighted 
with the volume.” — Scotsman. 

In the Reign of Terror: The Adventures of a West- 
minster Boy. By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by J. Schonberg. 
12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“Harry Sandwith, the Westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat 
Mr. Henty’s record. His adventures will delight boys by the audacity 
and peril they depict. The story is one of Mr. Henty’s best.” — Saturday 
Review. 

For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by th@ 
publisher, A*. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York. 


12 A. L. BURT^S BOOKS FOR YOUNG PEOPLE 


BOOKS FOR BOYS. 

The Lion of the North: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus 

and the Wars of Religion. By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by John 
Schonberg. 12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“A praiseworthy attempt to interest British youth in the great deeds 
of the Scotch Brigade in the wars of Gustavus Adolphus. Mackey, Hep- 
burn, and Munro live again in Mr. Henty’s pages, as those deserve to 
live -whose disciplined bands formed really the germ of the modern 
British army.” — Athenaeum. 

The Dragon and the Raven; or, The Days of King 

Alfred. By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by C. J. Staniland. 12mo, 
cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

In this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle be- 
tween Saxon and Dane for supremacy in England, and presents a vivid 
picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by the 
ravages of the sea-wolves. The story is treated in a manner most at- 
tractive to the boyish reader.” — Athenaeum. 

The Young Carthaginian: A Story of the Times of 

Hannibal. By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by C. J. Staniland. 12mo, 
cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“Well constructed and vividly told. From first to last nothing stays 
the interest of the narrative. It bears us along as on a stream whose 
current varies in direction, but never loses its force.” — Saturday Review. 

In Freedom’s Cause: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. 

By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, cloth, 
olivine edges, price $1.00. 

‘‘It is written in the author’s best style. Full of the wildest and most 
remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest, which a boy, once 
he has begun it, will not willingly put one side.” — The Schoolmaster. 

With Wolfe in Canada; or, The Winning of a Con- 
tinent. By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by Gordon Browne. 12mo, 
cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

‘‘A model of w r hat a boys’ story-book should be. Mr. Henty has a 
great power of infusing into the dead facts of history new life, and as 
no pains are spared by him to ensure accuracy in historic details, his 
books supply useful aids to study as well as amusement.” — School Guard- 
ian. 

True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of 

Independence. By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by Gordon Browne. 
12mo, cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“Does justice to the pluck and determination of the British soliders 
during the unfortunate struggle against American emancipation. The son 
of an American loyalist, who remains true to our flag, falls among the 
hostile red-skins in that very Huron country which has been endeared 
to us by the exploits of Hawkeye and Cbingachgook.” — The Times. 

A Final Reckoning: A Tale of Bush Life in Aus- 
tralia. By G. A. Henty. With illustrations by W. B. Wollen. 12mo, 
cloth, olivine edges, price $1.00. 

“All boys will read this story with eager and unflagging interest. The 
episodes are in Mr. Henty’s very best vein — graphic, exciting, realistic; 
and, as in all Mr, Henty’s books, the tendency is to the formation of an 
honorable, manly, and even heroic character.” — Birmingham Post. 


For sale by all booksellers, or sent postpaid on receipt of price by the 
publisher, A. L. BURT, 52-58 Duane Street, New York, 






















AUG 17 1904 


























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